The Trail of the Black Star
by Mundungus42
Summary: One would think that researching a new romance novel while harvesting rare orchids would keep Severus out of trouble, but the cloud forests of Peru hide many secrets. SSHG, OotP compliant.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
Author: Mundungus42  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com Rating: An energetic PG-13 Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance Disclaimer: I got rhythm, I got music, but I got no copyrights. Oh well. Two out of three ain't bad. Author's Note: This is a lengthy and late response to the WIKTT Romance Novelist Challenge, but who's counting? Narrative nods to the films "Romancing the Stone" and "Adaptation," abundant allusions to Peruvian folklore, translation tips from "Le Ton Beau de Marot," and extrinsic examples from other fics and pop culture bits abound. Please let me know if I fail to cite something so that I may do so. More detailed notes and quotes at the end of Chapter 13.  
  
Severus Snape - The Romance Novelist Challenge  
  
1) SS is a secret writer of Mills and Boon type novels.  
2) No-one knows this.for a while.  
3) Hermione finds out.  
4) HG can still be at Hogwarts as a student, or as a graduate.  
5) There must be a reference to one of SS's novels. Title is up to the  
writer..  
6) The following phrases must be incorporated: "- alleviate the ennui which had overtaken him/her like Communism through Eastern Europe."  
"May I convey how much I ardently admire and love you?"  
"Your paper and your parts are pure crap."  
"Abscess makes the heart grow fonder."  
"You're off your chump!"  
And some reference somewhere to a "heaving bosom". Characters may be OOC if required. Silliness is not a prerequisite, but it helps.  
  
  
  
London, UK  
21 June, 7:45 PM  
  
There was no other word for it: the Aero Club was a dive. It was too close to Heathrow to attract any respectable local clientele and too far from it to attract anyone other than hordes of airport workers who descended upon London with the sole intent of getting blitzed. The drinks were cheap, the music was loud, and the atmosphere forgettable. It was perfect.  
  
He sat in the corner doing his best impression of the invisible man. A pint of lager stood before him, untouched. The waitresses and shot girls knew better than to try to entice him to buy another drink. The story of the prat in black who ordered one drink and never tipped had been passed down from waitress to waitress for all the years that he'd come in. He was an institution. He'd come in a few times a year, buy a single beer, and then lurk in the corner for a few hours and bite off the head of anyone who spoke to him until the woman joined him. They'd exchange parcels, and then he'd disappear. Not literally- that was impossible. But nobody ever seemed to remember him coming or going. Then again, nobody ever got close enough to scrutinize, either.  
  
She was late. She was always late. He often wondered why he bothered showing up precisely at 7:30 when she never made it before 9. Punctuality was his passing nod at courtesy; Merlin knew she never received any other shows of it from him. But she didn't care as long as he kept delivering. He absently glanced at the manila envelope on the table in front of him.  
  
This one had come from a weekend in Italy, where he'd been researching a steel-curing potion from Agrippa's second treatise on swordsmithing. He found Tuscany quite charming with its ancient walled cities, hearty fare, and dark-eyed beauties with flashing smiles. And Violetta, the loveliest flower of them all had sought solace in his arms from her cruel Mafioso guardian. He forced the sun-drenched memory from his mind with a scowl. As soon as Meg showed up, he could get The Tuscan Riders off his hands and out of his mind. Then his life would return to normal for a while.  
  
Some men's lives are the tales of heroes and battles hard won. Other men live in tragedy, their suffering giving agonizing beauty to their otherwise meaningless existences. And others dance their lives as if to an internal musical score. Severus would have settled for his life to have been written by a Bronte sister, for all that he looked the part. But men can no more design the structure of their lives than they can touch the stars. And so Severus was resigned to his own life as the hero of a romance novel, and it was endlessly tiresome.  
  
It was Dumbledore who inadvertently gave him the idea to start writing down his adventures for publication. He'd just returned from a trip to India where he'd done some reconnaissance for Dumbledore and freed Siripadma the Siren from an arranged marriage to an elderly traditionalist by selflessly taking her virginity on the eve of her wedding. Fortunately, Severus had the foresight to introduce her to a dashing young mediwizard with a much more worldly philosophy before extricating himself from the situation. However, he still unwittingly sported a prominent love bite on the underside of his chin when he next visited Albus. Dumbledore twinkled at him suggestively and referred to an author with whom Severus was unfamiliar before healing the bruise and shooing him back to Hogwarts. But if the name Felicity Underalls was the name her parents had given her, he'd eat a flobberworm.  
  
He was surprised to discover several of Felicity Underalls' books in his drawer of items confiscated from potions students over the years; usually items that the students were too embarrassed to request returned. Absently, he read a few pages of La Belle Dame of the Golden West. Utter tripe, naturally- full of the reinforcing stereotypes typical of the genre that led to expectations of handsome princes on white chargers.  
  
It was then that he had the Idea. He dismissed it immediately, but it refused to stay dismissed. The next day he began writing. He had to change a few things, starting with the names of all persons involved. If any of the witches recognized themselves or their stories, he'd be wide open for a lawsuit, or worse, exposure as a paperback novelist. A month later he'd finished his first novel, Indian Summer, and sent it to a Muggle publisher. Two weeks later, he'd first met up with Margaret Mufflington at the Aero Club. Eight months later, he'd become the most popular author in the history of Scuppers and Hosepipe Publishing, and demand was growing. He'd written up nearly twenty "fictional" memoirs to date under the pen name Johnson Palmer, each more successful than the first. They all featured an international playboy named Thayne Meadows whom Meg initially feared was "too James Bond" -whatever that meant - to appeal to women. But his sales spoke for themselves; he was making overwhelming progress toward his goal of retiring in style before the age of sixty. Not bad for the greasy git, he reflected with satisfaction.  
  
Severus' attention was drawn to a familiar-looking elbow shoving its way through the crowd, which had grown considerably denser since his arrival. When the rest of her short frame came into view, she gave him a wide grin.  
  
"You're looking well," she remarked loudly over the music. "I take it Italy agreed with you?"  
  
"Entirely too well. I find such relentlessly agreeable places the height of tedium."  
  
She snorted. "Well, that explains why you keep dragging me to this god- awful place year after year." She glanced greedily at the envelope that Severus placed on the table. "What's the name of my next best-seller, then?"  
  
"It's called The Tuscan Riders."  
  
"Too Star Wars. We're not a sci-fi outfit."  
  
He had no idea what the star wars were, but figured her dismissal was valid. "Very well, how about The Hinds of Rome?"  
  
She laughed. "It would be wasted on your audience."  
  
"Call it The Florentine Nightingale for all I care, just take it away and publish the damn thing."  
  
"The Florentine Nightingale. I may keep that one," she remarked thoughtfully as she took the envelope. "I'll have a look through it before I decide on a title, of course."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"And I brought you a copy of your latest, and your check." She handed him paperback with a lurid illustration of a shirtless man in a cowboy hat entwined with a woman whose bosoms had practically heaved out of their token restraints. He removed the check from the book and turned it cover- side down on the table.  
  
"How thoughtful."  
  
"So," she took a deep pull from his beer, "do you have plans for a summer trip, yet?"  
  
"By which you mean, where is the next book to be set?"  
  
She nodded. "As your official spokesperson, I have to say something in your press releases. I must say, your fan mail have offered a variety of suggestions if you're short on exotic locales."  
  
"That will be unnecessary. I have already booked a trip to Peru."  
  
"Peru! That's fantastic! I can just picture it: the Lima nightlife, dancing 'til dawn, tropical beaches, it'll be an absolutely scrummy book! I can taste it now!" She closed her eyes and licked her lips for emphasis. "How long will you be there?"  
  
"Five days."  
  
"Only five?"  
  
"I have some pressing engagements at home, or I would stay longer. It should, nevertheless, be adequate for my purposes. Well, Meg, it's been an experience, as usual, but I have a work function this evening."  
  
"Always working, is my Johnny Palmer," she drawled, invoking his nom de plume. "So sad that he's always going and never coming. at least not for me."  
  
"Really, Meg. With such subtle turns of phrase you should write novels yourself instead of slaving away on press releases."  
  
"Oh John, you say the sweetest things. But one of us has to manage the business end." They both rose. "See you in a few months."  
  
"I'll call you when I've finished the next."  
  
"'Course you will, darling." She blew kisses at his retreating back and imagined the dirty look he would have given her if he'd seen. It gave her shivers. "Oh, John?"  
  
"What?"  
  
"You're not planning a happy ending for the next one, are you?"  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"For your next book, I mean. Will Thayne ever stay with one of the girls? In every one of your books, I get the feeling that this girl is the one for him. This one will make him stop wandering. But he always leaves in the end. I'm hardly complaining, mind you. It's earned you a Kleenex endorsement and allows for sequel after sequel, but as your publisher I'm entitled to know if and when you're planning to end the series."  
  
A wry look twisted his features into a semblance of a smile. "As much as it pains me to say, I do not foresee a change in the formula anytime soon."  
  
"Oh that's good," toasted him with the pint glass. "Have fun in Peru."  
  
He inclined his head in the slightest of nods before sweeping off in the direction of the loo.  
  
Meg took another drink from his abandoned beer and took out the manuscript. If the first few pages were any indication, this was going to be his best to date. It wasn't until she was wiping away the tears for Mimi, the abandoned lover, that it occurred to her that she never saw him leave.  
  
  
  
Lima, Peru  
24 June, 1:34PM  
  
Severus found Lima, apart from the magical library of Universidad Mayor de San Marcos, to be rather banal. The city was crowded, dirty, and entirely symptomatic of the expansionist mania that had gripped fifteenth and sixteenth century Muggle Europe. Spanish tile, Spanish architecture, a church on practically every corner smugly dismissing signs of any sign of the bloodthirsty native culture that conquered the area first. Hardly his preferred poison, though the ambient irony almost rendered it palatable. His first day in Peru was spent brooding in a dark corner of the library, studiously avoiding the nightlife, the beaches, and the knockout librarian who had been trying to catch his eye. Even though the library's collection of scholarship on 15th Century Incan magic was breathtaking, it was not the primary, nor even the quaternary reason he'd come to Peru. As a result, he was in an overwhelmingly foul mood.  
  
The draconian customs officials had confiscated his international apparation license for no reason other than that he refused to give up bribe money. So much for Plan A, which had been "take care of business quickly, extricate beautiful witch from sad situation, reluctantly accept her affections for a short time, go home." Broomstick use required a permit in Peru, as well. He would have applauded such a sensible measure if it had not been so damnably inconvenient, especially when the Magical Government offices were open intermittently, at best. So much for Plan B, which had been, "take care of business, be seduced by beautiful witch, go home, invent the rest for the book." Muggle transport to Cusco seemed to be a logical solution. However, it turned out to be a two-day wait for a flight, and only marginally better for trains and passenger buses. He grudgingly bought the plane ticket and mentally cursed the incompetent Peruvian airlines that made him wait two days for a 55-minute flight. So he was down to Plan C: take care of business, go home, painfully pull romantic plot from insufferable trip, be in bad mood until next trip.  
  
It wasn't until lunch the following day that he discovered the reason for the delay. He had originally attributed it the holiday season combined with the world's most popular eco-cultural tourist trap, the ruins of Machu Picchu. However, after a second procession of revellers invaded his peace and strewed confetti in his tea, he stalked to the nearest newsstand. The headline elicited a loud groan. The Festival of the Sun. Of course. The day when all of Peru paid homage to its bloodthirsty roots. The day when hundreds of thousands of people from all over the world descended upon Cusco to watch some actor in a silly costume pretend to sacrifice a llama. Absurd! And it left him with only two days to locate, secure, and harvest one of the rarest species of orchid in the world.  
  
After a day and a half of twiddling his thumbs in Lima, he was seriously considering Plan D, which was "bugger all, go home." However, his stubborn temperament had gotten the better of him and so he stayed in his dark corner of the magical library, radiating menace.  
  
At least he had managed to avoid any romantic entanglements, which would only have compounded his ill humour. The witches who sought him out all had the same ideas, the same kind of depressing situations, and were all aesthetically tolerable in a generously breasted, narrow hipped, full lipped, and pertly nosed kind of way. But behind the wide, outlandishly lashed eyes there was nothing that gave pause- no scintillation of mind, no depth of knowledge, and, most frustratingly, no skill at self-preservation.  
  
When the librarian caught his eye again, he took it as his cue to leave. She had almost worked up the courage to approach him, and the last thing he felt like doing was hearing her life's story, her abundant charms notwithstanding. She had 'emotional baggage' written all over her. He shot a quelling look in her direction and managed to suppress a smile as he saw her pretty face fall into a petulant pout.  
  
Typical, he thought as he gathered his things. She would wait in her ivory tower to be carried away, without doing a thing to help herself. If circumstances were different, he would have heard her out. He would even have helped her, partially to help pay his debt to the world for the mistakes of his youth, and partially because such women typically expressed their gratitude in a most satisfactory fashion.  
  
But that was where the fairy tale ended.  
  
He told himself that leaving them was the best way to help them break the dependency cycle, but privately, he knew that he could never have put up with any of them for very long. But there was no time for that sort of thing this trip. He had real work to do.  
  
  
  
End Notes: So the story is finished, but I'm updating on consecutive days in a puerile attempt to garner reviews. If you feel compelled to do so, indulge me!  
  
Next Chapter: Enter the Dragon. A ruthless mercenary, rare plants, and drugged tea. Oh, yes- Hermione too! 


	2. Chapter 2

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
Author: Mundungus42  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com Rating: PG-13 Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance Disclaimer: What is ownership, anyway? Author's Notes: So the first chapter didn't scare you off? Great!  
  
  
  
Cusco, Peru  
25 June, 10:21PM  
  
The flight was uneventful and thankfully short. He sighed with dismay as he gazed at the craggy peaks and moonlit jungles that swathed the mountains in velvety darkness. Finding an orchid in that would be like finding a demiguise in a fog bank. Plan D was sounding better and better The leggy brunette who had insisted upon staring at him the entire flight had brushed her lips against his cheek as they left the plane and handed him the number for the hotel at which she'd be staying. There were a thousand promises in her breathy voice and smouldering eyes. Severus promptly tossed the napkin into the bin as soon as she was out of sight. It wouldn't do to have distractions, and finding the orchid was his primary goal. He had precious little time as it was.  
  
The June air was cold, which made a certain amount of sense at an elevation of 3,400 metres. So this was Cusco, the former seat of the Incan Empire and doorstep to Machu Picchu and countless other no-doubt fascinating ruins. He suppressed a yawn. After recent trips to India, China, Italy, Egypt, Pakistan, Thailand, Mexico, and Texas, he'd seen enough examples of man's hubris to last a lifetime. The grandeur and complexity of the natural world was far more interesting.  
  
He hailed a cab and was able to direct the driver to the bed and breakfast in the Artists' District that was owned by an acquaintance of Filius'. She turned out to be an English witch of indeterminate age who reminded Severus strongly of Professor Sprout. She had decorated her home with Incan carvings and textiles that might have been quite attractive had she not crammed every available space with them. He greeted her tersely, but she was nonetheless glad to see him, having expected him two days earlier. She ushered him into the sitting room where she conjured up some tea. It was not quite to Severus' exacting specifications, but it was a marked improvement over restaurant teabags.  
  
"It's such a shame you missed the Festival of the Sun. That's what everyone comes to see," she said, pouring him a cup. "Still, there are so many beautiful examples architecture in the area and so many charming neighbourhoods. You'll be wanting to see the ruins tomorrow, no doubt. Milk or sugar?"  
  
"No ruins, no milk, and no sugar." He took the cup she offered and inhaled deeply. Young black tea leaves, a dash of rose hips - and was that coca? The old bird spiked her tea with coca leaves! She had gone native.  
  
"Then you're here to see the churches? They're quite impressive, and the pulpit of San Blas is just spectacular. Quite a diamond in the rough."  
  
"No."  
  
She went on as if she hadn't heard him. "The mix of architectural styles here is quite fascinating, I'm sure you'll find. Everything old is built on top of something even older, even the churches! Naturally, a city that's been around for so long has many stories to tell. I told Filius in a letter last week that Cusco is as old as Hogwarts and has far more history in its own way. But of course, I've lived here for so many years that I know almost all of them!"  
  
Severus grunted in response, hoping to end the conversation and get some sleep as quickly as possible.  
  
"So, what brings you here, Professor? Work or pleasure?"  
  
"Work, Ms. Rose."  
  
"Oh, tosh, call me Vidalia. And it's so nice to see a young man like yourself so devoted to being a professor!"  
  
Severus pursed his lips. He started teaching because it was part of his informant deal with Albus and he only tolerated it now for the use of Hogwarts's state-of-the-art facilities and for summer holidays. He was a Potions Master first and foremost, and it irked him to be known by the more general title, "professor." Albus' lax attitude toward modes of address had always irritated him. Of course, Severus had been in no position to insist on being called "Master" when Albus hired him. He also had no desire to talk to Ms. Rose about it.  
  
"Quite. If you will excuse me, Vidalia, I've a number of things to do tomorrow."  
  
"Of course, of course. Your room is up the stairs, the second door on the right. The WC is across the hall. What time will you be waking tomorrow?"  
  
"I will require breakfast at four."  
  
"So early? I must make sure you get some more of my special energizing tea. I get it from an expatriate American who lives in the District. He's quite a character. But heavens! We should both be in bed! I'll put the lights out down here. Good night, Professor."  
  
"Vidalia."  
  
His bedroom was positively Spartan compared to the haphazard knickknack décor of the other rooms, to his great relief. He didn't fancy trying to fall asleep with grotesque faces leering at him from the shadows. After stowing his gear in a highboy that had been garishly painted with native birds, he allowed himself to relax on the bed. Reflecting on the tedium of the past day was more than enough to quickly put him to sleep.  
  
  
  
12 Km Northeast of Aqsaywaman Archaeological Park, Peru 26 June, 6:57AM  
  
The sun rising in the cloud forests of the Andes was a spectacular sight. However, Severus was in no state to appreciate it. His breath was coming in ragged gasps, and he was feeling decidedly queasy. The potion he had taken was having only marginal effect. He should have known better than to use an altitude potion invented by a Dutchman. What did the Dutch know of altitudes above sea level, much less the Andes?  
  
His guide was a crafty-eyed Muggle named Puquio, who had been recommended with a sly wink by Vidalia. Puquio had conveyed to him in broken Spanish and English that he knew the area well and no qualms about helping collectors obtain rare species from areas protected by the government.  
  
"But what about the park officials?" Severus had asked.  
  
Puquio slung an automatic rifle over his shoulder and grinned.  
  
Severus's hand hadn't left his wand since.  
  
Severus had insisted on accompanying Puquio into the park, since he had had only a vague description of the orchid he was looking for. The document from which he had learned of the orchid's existence was a 19th century translation of a translation of an Incan poem, and the details were sketchy at best. But Puquio was adamant that if the orchid existed in the park, he could find it. He even hinted that he had seen an orchid that was completely black. Severus was doubtful of this claim. He hoped he wouldn't have to help jog Puquio's memory. His services were exorbitantly expensive as it was. Puquio's unctuous persuasions had finally ceased after a very firm, "I'll know it when I see it" in a tone that would have sent first years scrambling to remove themselves from his presence.  
  
Fortunately, Puquio seemed to know where he was going, and he had not yet attempted to rob or shoot Severus. While the man seemed to have a knack for finding the steepest and most relentlessly uphill trails, he also had a knack for locating exquisite specimens of the local flora. He'd already found some breathtaking -and not just because of the smell- Pleurothallis apthosa that Sprout would probably sell her mother to have. Puquio harvested a young plant and stoppered it in a glass flask with deceptive ease, presumably for another collector. That would fetch a tidy packet, if he knew the right place to sell it.  
  
None too soon for Severus' aching lungs, Puquio sat down heavily on a fallen tree and pulled out a leather water skin. He indicated for Severus to do the same.  
  
"We rest here now. Trail is muy steep ahead."  
  
Severus' stomach lurched. If what they'd done already wasn't muy steep, he wasn't sure he could make it much further without depositing Vidalia's hearty English breakfast and energising tea behind a tree. The language barrier kept Severus' tongue in check, and he certainly wasn't about to open his mouth unnecessarily. He nodded at Puquio and joined him on the tree trunk, dribbling water from his own flask on his forehead. The surface of the metal was viscid from the cool, damp air.  
  
Severus wasn't sure whether to blame the heavy vegetation or the lingering morning mist for the unpleasantly moist conditions. Puquio had warned him that there would probably be rain in the afternoon, and he had brought a Muggle waterproof in case the resisting charm he'd placed on his jacket wasn't sufficient. The sudden silence unnerved him. When the sun began to come up, he thought he'd go mad from the increasing levels of birdsong. But the birds had quieted gradually, leaving the trees steeped in a pregnant silence. A sudden breeze stirred the thick foliage and sent the mist swirling around their feet. Severus felt his hackles rise. From wary look that darted across Puquio's features, he was put off by the unnatural quiet, too.  
  
Severus caught his eye. "What is it?"  
  
Puquio squinted, struggling to think of the word in English. "Puma." He suddenly unslung his rifle and fired a shot into the air. The report sent a few birds up into the canopy shrieking into the skies overhead and echoed through the trees. "That will scare it off."  
  
"You fool, you'll bring the authorities down on us in an instant!"  
  
Puquio's smile would have been reassuring if it hadn't displayed both rows of teeth. "We move. Now."  
  
Severus had the nasty feeling that Puquio would leave him for the notoriously trigger-happy park rangers if he didn't move quickly enough. He was about to issue a general threat against doing so when Puquio grabbed his arm and shushed him.  
  
"Escuche!"  
  
He heard it. He thought it was the wind at first, but it was far too rhythmic. Was it the sound of breathing? No. It sounded like wings. Giant wings. But the wingbeats sounded like they were coming from far overhead, above the canopy, and they were too loud to be a bird, even a condor. Oh no. It couldn't be- He thought very quickly back to his Care of Magical Creatures classes for something helpful. He vaguely remembered something about hovering before diving down upon their-  
  
"GET DOWN!" He yelled at Puquio as he threw himself to the ground and rolled into a depression underneath the tree trunk. Puquio joined him just before a thunderous cracking of branches came from overhead. A whoosh of air and an angry shriek signalled that three metres of angry Peruvian Vipertooth had just lost the advantage against its favourite prey.  
  
Severus barely had time to pull out his wand before the dragon had wheeled around in the air and attempted another pass. He aimed at the charging dragon and bellowed, "STUPEFY!"  
  
The spell glanced off the dragon's coppery scales and sailed harmlessly into the trees. Fortunately, the dragon was surprised enough by the spell that it sailed over their shelter instead of landing and attacking. This was their only chance.  
  
Severus could cast an invulnerability spell on himself, but that wouldn't help Puquio. If he told Puquio to run, the Vipertooth would chase him down as soon as he realized that Severus was inedible. The only way was to get between the dragon and Puquio and put up such a fight that the dragon would forget about the guide. It certainly wasn't a winner as far as plans went, but it would have to do. He pointed his wand at himself and murmured, "Contego."  
  
Instantly, he was enveloped in a globe of faint blue light. He jumped out and waved his arms at the approaching dragon. It roared and flew at him, jaws open wide. Severus braced for impact.  
  
"Cuntur Inti!"  
  
Severus almost spun around when he heard the voice behind him, but the dragon was a more immediate threat. A golden beam shot from somewhere to the left, and hit the dragon in the chest. It froze in midair, and shrieked in frustration. Immediately, another spell came.  
  
"Stupefy!"  
  
The red beam hit the dragon squarely in the face. It collapsed heavily to the ground.  
  
Severus spun around and found himself face to face with an Amazon. She was tall and wore a kind of red tunic that left her muscled arms exposed. Powerful legs were encased in soft leather leggings, and she wore heavy belt adorned with what appeared to be teeth. She held a wand in each hand, and both were pointed at him. Her skin was darkly tanned and wild tendrils of hair framed the stormy look on her face. She was a vision of strength. She was magnificent.  
  
And before he had time to process that information, she cursed him.  
  
It wasn't a particularly nasty spell, just a petrifying curse. He felt the protective globe around him absorb the spell's magic, and it began to glow more brightly.  
  
She looked rather surprised that her spell had failed, but immediately put up her own protective spell. Very clever. She'd placed them on equal footing, essentially creating an impasse. It was impossible to take offensive magical action with the invulnerability spell in place, even with two wands. Good. He'd rather resolve this matter without casualties.  
  
But the Amazon had different ideas. To Severus' great shock, she ran at him. Hard. The full force of the collision threw him to the ground and knocked what little breath he had left forcefully from his lungs. Unable to process any action other than getting air to his brain, he dropped his defensive shield. With a rasping gasp, he instinctively threw himself to the left as another petrifying curse sizzled past him. She had dropped her defensive spell in another attempt to subdue him and was nearly on top of him. Well, he thought with a smirk, she was in for a surprise if she thought he was just going to lie there for her.  
  
He was about to send a disarming spell her way - not expecting it to disarm her, but rather to gauge her reaction time - when a gunshot cracked from behind him. The woman crumpled to the ground with a cry of pain and surprise. He forced himself to stand and found Puquio's rifle aimed at him. His eyes were wild, and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead. He gestured to the wand in Severus' hand with the barrel of his gun.  
  
"P'ajpaku," he growled. "You are like her. I leave. You follow and I shoot." He looked over his shoulder as if he meant to leave, but paused and gave a predatory smile. "Your wallet. Now."  
  
Severus didn't think twice before summoning the gun and bashing Puquio into unconsciousness with the butt. That miserable crook wasn't worth wasting offensive magic on. He glanced at the stunned dragon. He wondered if it would have left him alone he'd let it eat Puquio.  
  
He walked over to where the injured witch lay. Odd, she didn't appear to be bleeding. From the way her wands lay in her hands, he suspected that her unconsciousness was an act to draw him closer and put him off his guard. He wasn't about to fall for that. With a couple of whispered words, he summoned both of her wands and tucked them into a pocket. Her eyes snapped open and she glared at him. She quickly pulled a knife with a wickedly serrated blade from her boot.  
  
He sighed impatiently. "Woman, cease these detestable histrionics. I am going to keep you from bleeding to death, that is, if you can refrain from attacking me for a few minutes." He hoped she spoke English. He didn't know the Spanish word for 'histrionics,' much less the proper word in the native dialect.  
  
His words had the desired effect. She automatically lowered her eyes and her hands to her side. Then, just as quickly, she raised her head and she met his eye. He saw recognition register, and then horror, then disbelief.  
  
"Professor Snape?"  
  
He was immediately on his guard. "Who wants to know?"  
  
She grinned; an expression that made her appear very young. "Let's see if I can refresh your memory, sir." She released her abundant curls from their bindings and scrubbed her hands through them until her hair resembled a brown shrub. She then waved her arm eagerly in the air.  
  
She paused at his look of confusion. "Nothing? Well, we'll try again, then, shall we?"  
  
He was quickly losing what little caution her use of his name had generated. "I fail to see the point of playing charades when you've just been shot. Now be quiet and let me examine you."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Professor, I'm perfectly fine." She pulled up her tunic enough to show him the enhanced dragonhide vest that was hidden underneath. There was an indentation on the left side of her ribcage. "I'll probably have a bruise the size of a mango, but as you can see," she jumped to her feet. "I'm well enough."  
  
The no-nonsense tone of her voice brooked no opposition, and he wondered briefly if she was related to Minerva McGonagall. Could she have been a student of his? He studied her for a moment, trying to picture her ten years younger and skin several shades paler. Oh no. But there was no mistaking that bossy voice and untameable hair for anyone else.  
  
"Granger."  
  
"Oh, well spotted," she replied gleefully. "I had no idea I'd changed so much as to stump you, even for a moment, Professor."  
  
He was willing to tolerate the attentions of blonde librarians, exchange smoky glances with leggy brunettes, and play dangerous games with glorious Amazons in the rainforest, but he'd buy a Revere cauldron from Mundungus Fletcher before he'd willingly banter with Harry Potter's best friend. "Stop calling me 'professor' you silly girl. In case you hadn't noticed, I'm no longer your teacher."  
  
"Perhaps if I had my wands the balance of power that which normally exists between two adults would be restored. Don't you agree, Professor?"  
  
She was already grating on his nerves. But she had a point. He tossed the wands at her. To his annoyance, she caught them both. She pocketed them and regarded him shrewdly.  
  
"Now the question remains; what am I to do with your friend?" She walked over and shoved Puquio unceremoniously with her foot. "Protocol mandates that I immobilize and notify proper authorities. Tempting. Puquio has quite a reputation with the rangers, you know, and it would be quite a notch in my belt to bring him in."  
  
She hadn't changed a bit. She was still an over-confident chit with a gift for getting on his nerves. "And what if I were to refuse being subdued," he asked, invoking his silkiest tones. "What would your protocol mandate, then?"  
  
She blinked in surprise, but quickly recovered. "For heaven's sake, I wasn't threatening you, Professor," she said with exasperation. "I was talking about Puquio. And really, that heavy-handed threat was far beneath the level of sophistication with which I had previously credited you."  
  
She was lecturing him on the art of conversation! Unbelievable! He made an inarticulate noise of outrage, but she continued on blithely.  
  
"Then again, I suppose it must come as rather a shock to meet me in the middle of a forest in Peru, so I will excuse your previous slips, provided you keep a civil tongue in your head. Now, are you finished with your impression of a guppy at feeding time, or do you need a moment?"  
  
He closed his mouth, which had been jumping between open and closed, and glared.  
  
"Good." She surveyed him from head to toe and tossed him a vial of pearly green liquid from her belt. Apparently there was more to it than just dubious fashion sense. "First things first. You look like death warmed over. That should help ease the altitude sickness. You'll be needing all your strength if we're going to find whatever it was you hired Puquio to help you find."  
  
"I must have misheard you, Miss Granger, because I thought I hear the word 'we' escape your lips. My being here is none of your concern."  
  
"Oh, I beg your pardon," she said with false courtesy. "Did you have someone else in mind to hold your hand and guide you back to civilisation? Do you know someone else who is both familiar with area and foolhardy enough to help you? Well?"  
  
His scowl could have soured milk.  
  
"I thought not," she said in a satisfied voice. "Now drink your potion." He hesitated. "For goodness sakes, it's not going to kill you. Honestly, I don't know why I bother, sometimes."  
  
He swallowed the potion with a grumbled, "I don't know why you bother, ever," noting the unfamiliar wash of flavours. Almost instantly, his breathing eased and the nausea evaporated. He felt warmer and better than he had since before coming to Peru. He was about to give her a grudging backhanded compliment when he realized that she had walked over to the unconscious dragon and prised open one of its eyes. Before he could protest, she had deposited several drops of a scarlet liquid into one eye, then the other. The dragon did not stir. She dribbled a fair amount into its nose, which produced a red vapour when the dragon exhaled.  
  
She shot him an impish smile and tapped her wand into a soft patch under the dragon's foreleg. It awoke with a start and shook its head in an uncannily human gesture. When its eyes focused on her, it let out a surprised snort, spread its wings, and tore up through the canopy in terror.  
  
Well, that was certainly different. Rather than give her the satisfaction of being visibly impressed, he commented, "It seems as if you really did learn nothing at Hogwarts, Miss Granger."  
  
"How do you mean, Professor?"  
  
"Stop calling me that," he snapped before he could stop himself. He felt like adding "twenty points from Gryffindor," but it undermined the point he was trying to make. "And what I mean is that one would think that after seven years, Miss Granger would have taken the school's motto more to heart."  
  
It wasn't the answer she had been expecting, but the flash of confusion was quickly replaced by amusement. The slip merited comment, especially considering his face's traitorous response to her laughter. He had very nearly smiled. It wouldn't do.  
  
"Feeding time for the guppies again, is it?"  
  
She had recovered herself, though her cheeks were still pink. "Profess- I mean, sir-. Oh hell, what am I supposed to call you?"  
  
"Severus, I suppose. Though," he added in a bored tone, "if you must insist on calling me by an academic title, you may call me Master."  
  
She snickered. "The day I call you 'Master' is the day you call me 'Master.' If you can bring yourself to set aside years of habit, please call me Hermione."  
  
Before Severus had a chance to comment, a loud groan came from behind him. Puquio was regaining consciousness.  
  
The girl rubbed her side and glared at Puquio. "It's rather a shame the rangers only give rewards for captures and not kills."  
  
She slung Puquio's rifle over her shoulder and cast stupefy and mobilicorpus on him in rapid succession. When the body was vertical again, Severus noticed that the man was bleeding. The side of his face had been abraded, either hiding from the dragon or when he fell. Hermione tutted at the scrape and pulled another vial of potion from her belt. She dabbed a few drops on to the scraped area. She shrugged at the questioning look Severus gave her.  
  
"It needed to be cleaned. Merlin knows what's got into it by now. I'm sure he'd love to wake up in prison with a face full of parasites or pus. Of course," she said, returning the vial to her belt, "my mother always said that abscess makes the heart grow fonder."  
  
"Remind me never to let your mother work on my teeth."  
  
She pretended not to hear and began walking, while Puquio bobbed like a balloon on a string behind her. Still the soft spot for the helpless, or the temporarily helpless, in spite of her mercenary bluster.  
  
She glanced at him impatiently over her shoulder.  
  
"Are you coming, or aren't you?"  
  
He crossed his arms. "I understood that civilisation lay in the opposite  
direction."  
  
"It is, but I'm not about to leave you or Puquio here alone. The Stayaway Solution that I used on the dragon only lasts about twenty minutes. You're just going to have to put up with me for a while yet. Besides, I have use for a Potions Master, if you're willing."  
  
Ahah. "So holding my hand back to civilisation isn't a purely altruistic gesture on your part? I'm shocked."  
  
"Really, Severus," she said reproachfully but with a definite gleam in her eye, "would you have agreed to hear me out any other way?"  
  
  
  
End Note: Make Mun Smile- Review! Criticism accepted gratefully.  
  
Next Chapter: Hermione takes annoyance out on local flora, Snape unwillingly divulges a secret, obligatory Longbottom Bashing. 


	3. Chapter 3

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
Author: Mundungus42  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com Rating: PG-13 Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance Disclaimer: Warner, Scholastic and Jo- Oh my!  
Author's Notes: Hey reader! Thank you! Yes, you! I hope you enjoy my  
story!  
  
  
  
Uncharted Forest, Peru  
26 June, 10:13AM  
  
Severus had to admit, Hermione's company was infinitely superior to Puquio's. For all the physical and intellectual changes time had wrought, she was still relentlessly idealistic, which was almost as impressive as it was irritating. Still, he was having trouble remembering a conversation with a woman had been more straightforward. Quite refreshing, though he eventually credited his enjoyment on the continued effectiveness of Hermione's altitude potion.  
  
"I've been doing field work here ever since I received my Mastership in Magical History from Logres." She held aside a branch to let him pass.  
  
"I must admit to being somewhat surprised by your field of study, considering how much crowing by Minerva and Filius I endured over your work in their classes. Of course, I always knew you were never cut out for advanced potions study, but I'd always pictured you selflessly cramming your knowledge of transfiguration or charms down the throats of reluctant students."  
  
She shrugged. "Anyone who knew me in school was probably sick to death of me quoting relevant bits from 'Hogwarts, A History' at them. None of them seemed to think it surprising that I chose to pursue history."  
  
His eyes narrowed at the mention of her schoolmates, and she wisely chose not to go into depth on the subject.  
  
"Of course," she continued with a wry smile that eminently suited her features, "you can imagine my keen disappointment when I found that Logres didn't offer a Mastership in Insufferable Knowitallism, but History was a close second. As for teaching, I figure I've paid my dues to that noble profession for helping Neville Longbottom survive seven years of potions with all higher brain functions and limbs intact. And speaking of potions- "  
  
"I wasn't aware that Longbottom had any higher brain functions to lose. And, predictably, you need my help with a pet project."  
  
"Well, yes. I've had a fair amount of success with re-creating a few rudimentary Incan potions from what I've been able to glean from my translations of quipu, like the altitude potion and Stayaway Solution, but I was hoping to pick your brain on a project which has more wide-reaching applications."  
  
"What did you have in mind?"  
  
She held aside another branch. "A potion that renders the drinker immune to all forms of physical or magically induced pain."  
  
Severus was so surprised that he neglected to catch the branch. It twanged back and caught him in the chest.  
  
She spun around at the heavy thwack. "Oh, I'm sorry! Are you all right?"  
  
"Did you say 'immune to all forms of physical or magically induced pain?'"  
  
"Yes, I did."  
  
"Then I'm certainly not all right. Have you any idea of the ramifications of such a potion, if such a thing could ever exist? It would be catastrophic."  
  
"You're right as far as that it was invented as a battle weapon. I suspect that it induced a sort of battle frenzy, in addition to removing pain reflexes. Having warriors that didn't feel pain or fear death allowed the Inca to conquer most of South America before the Spanish came along. But the point is that it is that the Spanish did prevail because of advanced weaponry, in this case, guns. Do you honestly think we're still vulnerable to those kinds of tactics?"  
  
He was not convinced. "It's not a matter of prevailing, it's a matter of avoiding the cost of such a fight."  
  
"But can't you see the positive applications? Such a potion would revolutionize the treatment of pain. And, of course, it renders one of the Unforgivable Curses ineffective. Don't you see the inherent value in such a potent protection?"  
  
"Of course I can see its possible value, but I don't believe that it supersedes the dangers of nefarious use. The potential for abuse is far too great."  
  
She severed a vine that hung across their path with a vicious swipe of her knife. "I hardly think it's your decision to make."  
  
"It is very much my decision if you expect me to help you with it!"  
  
"It's my discovery. If you refuse to help me, I'll find someone else who will."  
  
"I doubt very much you'll find someone with the necessary training and experience with the requisite lack of ethics and common sense to make that kind of discovery public."  
  
She turned on him. "I honestly believe that with a few changes to the formula, this potion would be a huge benefit to the Magical population of the world. Every major technological advance has the potential to be harmfully exploited, but it is because of these conveniences that we are able to further our civilisation and improve our quality of life. Should we stop using broomsticks because one can fall off? Should we stop using fire because we can burn ourselves? Of course not."  
  
"I can picture defending myself to an international tribunal, ten years and another war separating us from the present. 'But Your Grace, Miss Granger honestly believed that the potion would be used for only good things. Is it our fault that someone decided to use it to the purpose for which it was originally invented?'"  
  
"You make it sound like I'm planning to market the original potion as a universal pain killer. I assure you that I'm not."  
  
"And what's to stop other people from doing so if you were to succeed?"  
  
"International patents and copyrights, for a start."  
  
He waved his hand dismissively. "Patents and copyrights are no guarantee of long-term control. They expire a mere fifty years after you do- which, might I add, could be considerably sooner than you think if you persist with projects that have similarly 'wide-ranging applications.'"  
  
"So what do you think I should do with this discovery, if not use it to better mankind?"  
  
"Nothing. This potion, if in fact such a thing exists, does far greater service to the world by being lost in the mists of time."  
  
"This is just wonderful," she said through clenched teeth. Another mutilated vine fell to the forest floor. "I can't believe you're advising me to sit on the most important discovery of my career, without even looking at the ingredients or my notes to see if it might be altered for pharmaceutical use. Are you reflexively this difficult or do I merit special treatment?"  
  
"Really, Miss Granger," the old name was as comfortable on his tongue as the scorn, "have you ever known me to treat you preferentially? Therapeutic uses would be even more disastrous. People would take this potion to avoid seeing a Mediwitch or wizard, thus causing themselves further harm. Broken bones would heal without being set, curable cancers would go undiagnosed until the point of widespread metastasis, and I trust I need not go into the psychological effects. All pain exists for a reason, Miss Granger. To rid the world of it indiscriminately would be unconscionable."  
  
"There are a number of magics that are strictly controlled by the International Federation of Wizards, as well as Ministries of Magic. Just because magic may be misused doesn't mean it shouldn't exist. What about Veritaserum? Or Divination?"  
  
"Or the Unforgivables? Surely you don't argue that they have positive uses as well."  
  
She was blessedly silent for a moment, and he went the kill.  
  
"Furthermore, I fail to understand how easily you dismiss what lessons Incan history teaches us. Their time of power was a violent and bloody time, and their magic reflected this. We should not strive to emulate them or seek their answers for our problems. Surely you've studied history enough to know that it repeats itself if its lessons are forgotten."  
  
Rather than looking abashed, as he had expected, she shot him a suspicious look. Fortunately, she turned from him and continued chopping through the underbrush.  
  
It was with an air of innocence that she asked him about his own research at Hogwarts and how it related to his being in Peru. He was instantly wary. He had hoped she wouldn't put two and two together so quickly, if at all.  
  
"I am in search of several potions ingredients for my private use." Now shut up, he added mentally.  
  
"Such as?" Her innocence had taken on a distinct predatory edge.  
  
"Q'ararenqa tail feathers-"  
  
"Q'ararenqa are far more common over in Manu National Park than around here. And it is one of the few areas where the government regularly permits magical harvest of endangered species."  
  
"I didn't come for just the feathers, idiot girl. I also wanted native pepper, algarroba pods, chicken foot plant-"  
  
"All are also found in far more accessible places. Were there any species in particular that drew you to this area?"  
  
Shit. She was on to him. Divert! Deflect! "Dear me, Miss Granger, you seem to think me no better than Puquio. You had better alert the authorities- or perhaps it might be difficult to explain why you were not planning to turn me in. I'm sure they'd be quite interested."  
  
She ignored this. "You wouldn't happen to be looking for a rare plant, would you, Professor?"  
  
"Miss Granger, I insist that you desist in pointing your wand at me!"  
  
"You wouldn't happen to be looking for a particular orchid, would you, Professor?"  
  
He pulled out his own wand. "Calm yourself, you silly little-"  
  
"You wouldn't happen to be looking for the Black Star, the rare orchid which just happens to be the active ingredient of my pain-blocking potion, would you, Professor?"  
  
"STOP CALLING ME 'PROFESSOR!'"  
  
She blinked, and her ire seemed to recede. "So you don't deny that you're trying to make the same potion you're discouraging me from making?"  
  
"I have no wish to deny it," Severus spat.  
  
"So your self-proclaimed ethics extend only so far as to prevent me from patenting the potion and process before you did? You sneaky, manipulative-"  
  
"If I may," Severus interrupted. "I still stand by every statement I made earlier. The potion must never be generally known. I have no desire to make the discovery public. I was planning to create the potion purely for private use."  
  
"Do you think that just because you're making it that it's more protected than by copyrighting or patent? Your work could be stolen or discovered it at any time."  
  
"Perhaps you are somewhat unsure of your ability to keep things hidden and secret. I have no such insecurities."  
  
"And I have no such hubris to think myself invulnerable."  
  
"And why should anyone be interested in me, pray tell? Do I flaunt my knowledge or skill... outside the classroom," he amended at her look of disbelief. "In any event, the fact that there are research facilities at Hogwarts is one of the best guarded-secrets at academia. If it were widely- known, do you think we'd have trouble finding Defence Against the Dark Arts instructors?" His eyes narrowed. "I wasn't aware that your lot ever came across those rooms, as they are unplottable, so how did you know?"  
  
"No, we never went looking for them," she replied quickly, though her suddenly closed expression caught his interest. "But that's not important."  
  
"Come now, Miss Granger. You know my dirty little secret; what's yours?"  
  
"I hardly think that making arcane potions is very high on the list of Severus Snape's Important Secrets," she said in lofty tones. "And if you must know, I figured it out on my own following a trip to your uncommonly well-stocked storeroom during my second year. There were ingredients there that no student would ever be allowed to access, much less use."  
  
Potter really hadn't been the Boomslang Bandit? Who'd have believed it? Was she behind the gillyweed disappearance, too? "Odd, I don't recall ever having given you permission to enter my storeroom."  
  
She rolled her eyes. "Obviously, Professor. But we're straying dangerously far from the point. I want to make the potion, and I can't do it by myself. You don't approve of me publishing my findings. You want to make the potion and you can't find all the ingredients without my help. There appears to be only one solution."  
  
"Let me guess: you want me to work with you for the next two days - which is all the time I have, incidentally - to create an incredibly complex potion, the unparalleled zenith of our thus-far mediocre careers, and then just walk away, satisfied."  
  
She looked slightly unsure of herself. "Well, what's wrong with that?"  
  
"Besides the fact that we'd hex one another into oblivion after collaborating for more than two minutes, and my grave doubts as to whether we should even consider doing this, there is no way that two people can re- create in two days a process that took the Inca two hundred years to discover, much less reduce it to only its positive effects."  
  
"Oh, that."  
  
'Oh, that,' indeed. Arrogant child.  
  
"I guess you're right. We'll have to compare notes before we can decide if it's possible."  
  
It was much easier to ignore her galling optimism when it was so easy to deflate. "What makes you think that comparing notes will make the task any less impossible?"  
  
"Well, I know for a fact that you couldn't possibly have got your information from the same source I did, so I'm hoping your source contains a few details that mine doesn't, and vice versa."  
  
"And what makes you so sure that our sources are different?"  
  
The annoying gleam was back. "My source material is 700 year-old web of knotted ropes that I pulled from a concealed opening in the middle of a cliff face. I am fairly sure it is unique."  
  
He refused to admit being impressed. "You've forsaken your precious library for an antique cat's cradle? I can only assume you've been in the sun too long."  
  
She bristled. "For your information, Professor, the Inca had a very complex system of knotted and coloured ropes that allowed them to record all aspects of their lives. When the historians finished knotting the quipu, the Willaq Uma put spells into each knot-"  
  
"I knew that, you silly girl," he snapped. "Stop speaking to me as you would Longbottom."  
  
She hacked through a few low-hanging branches before speaking again. "We're not far from the ranger station, now. The rangers are all Muggles, but they know most of us in the research camp. I'll have to bring in Puquio alone so as not to look suspicious."  
  
"Like appearing to have taken down an armed mercenary armed only with a knife?"  
  
She sent him a withering look. "Unlike some, I happen to be quite fond of 'foolish wand-waving.'"  
  
A moment later, her knife had been transfigured into a gleaming machine gun, and the teeth and vials adorning her belt had become extra rounds of ammunition.  
  
"It doesn't actually shoot," she explained at his wary look. "But it should fool Puquio and the rangers, don't you think?"  
  
"It might be a little more intimidating if it looked as if it had actually been fired."  
  
"Good point," she said, adding some artful scratches and dents with a flick of her wand. "Is that better?"  
  
"Infinitely." He pointed his wand at the unconscious man still bobbing in the air. "Would you like to do the honours, or should I?"  
  
"You'd better let me take him and wait here, Professor. It would be much easier if I didn't have to explain your presence. They can be rather rough to outsiders."  
  
"Your obvious experience reassures me greatly."  
  
She ignored his tone of voice and tossed him a plastic bag filled with a lumpy blob of something. "Have some of that while you're waiting. You'll need to keep your strength up."  
  
He eyed the brown mass with distaste. "What is it?"  
  
"CHUMP."  
  
"Chump?"  
  
"Chocolate Honey Utopia with Macadamias and Peanuts. Enough sugar to wake you up, enough protein to keep you going. Aunt Ruth's secret recipe. It's actually just fudge with nuts and honey added, but Tino renamed it in honour of the Coca Harvest Undercover Magical Police who 'inspect' our camp periodically. They found a bag of it during one of their first inspections and stayed for another two hours while I made a new pan of it for them. Don't eat it all before I get back."  
  
She began to lead the unconscious man away, when a sudden thought occurred to him.  
  
"Wait."  
  
He approached the floating body and pulled a wad of notes from Puqiuo's jacket pocket.  
  
"There's no need to look so scandalized, Miss Granger. Puquio failed to find the orchid I was looking for, and I'm simply retracting the fee he was paid to do so. Besides, discovering large amounts of cash on his person might lead to inconvenient questions."  
  
"If you say so," She turned to leave again. "I do hope this means you'll pay me equally well when we find the Black Star, Professor."  
  
His lips tightened. "You're not going to stop calling me 'Professor,' are you?"  
  
He could no longer see her through the brush, but her laughter floated back to him. "Only if you stop calling me 'Miss Granger.'"  
  
He sat down at the base of a large tree and gazed up at the enormous canopy overhead, feeling an odd sort of peace settle over him. The CHUMP was tasty. It occurred to him that in the unlikely event that he was lucky, the Cusco trip might almost turn out to be worthwhile. Just to be contrary, he set his process-honed mind to the task of figuring out exactly how to make Aunt Ruth's Secret Fudge. Even if the whole trip turned out to be for naught, he'd at least have a new sweet for Albus.  
  
  
  
End Note: Review!  
  
Next Chapter: A bottle of Rum, discussion of Dumbledore, Hermione's research camp, suggestive sleeping arrangements. 


	4. Chapter 4

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
Author: Mundungus42  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com Rating: PG-13 Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance Disclaimer: I might own the story if this weren't a challenge, a piece of fanfiction, and a pastiche of plots. As things stand, I don't.  
  
*********************************  
  
Other than a few minutes' cardiac arrest when a burst of nearby gunfire shattered his reverie, the rest of the morning was positively peaceful. Hermione had returned, flushed with pleasure, carrying a bottle of cloudy, colourless liquid.  
  
"It's the chief's special recipe," she informed him. "They were saving the bottle for whomever brought in Puquio. I had no idea. I'd only ever heard of this stuff, let alone had a bottle to myself. Although, I suppose you're entitled to at least half since you were the clever enough to get him attacked by a dragon on my patrol."  
  
"You didn't just happen upon us during your morning stroll, then?"  
  
"In exchange for carte blanche to study whatever and wherever we please, we take turns dealing with the dragons in the area and any trouble they cause with the Muggle tourists. None of us mind terribly, especially with an expert like Tino to show us the ropes. Part-time dragon chasing was what led to my discovery of the quipu cache in the cliff face, after all. Still, it's much nicer since I re-created the Stayaway Solution. Before, we had to patrol in pairs, which meant we had to do twice the number of shifts. Of course, we're also to keep an eye out for the rangers' and CHUMPs' most wanted poachers and smugglers, though I'm the first of our camp to ever collect on it." She raised the bottle with a smile.  
  
"And what, pray, exactly is the chief's special recipe?"  
  
"150-proof homemade rum. They say he adds essence of uchu to distract the drinker from the taste."  
  
"I can just imagine how his men respond to such an incentive."  
  
"Well, I'm sure you heard the celebratory gunfire..." She trailed off while gazing up into the canopy. "It's nearly noon. If we keep up a good pace, we should reach camp before sunset."  
  
The memory of the morning's sickness was still fresh in Severus' mind. "Isn't there a shorter way?"  
  
"That is the short way. I suppose I could apparate, but that would kind of leave you in the lurch. Besides, it'll give us a chance to discuss our respective findings vis a vis the pain potion. Fortunately, there's a trail between here and camp, so we won't have to hack our way there. You're not afraid of heights, are you?"  
  
"Not to my knowledge."  
  
"Good." She pursed her lips in concentration and surveyed the trees around them. She tapped her wand on a gargantuan tree whose top Severus could not see. Nothing happened. "I always remember that it's a lupuna tree, but I can never remember which one." The third tree that she tried gave a shudder, and a rectangular section of bark creaked open to reveal carved steps that spiralled up into the darkness. He glanced at their weathered surfaces doubtfully, but followed Hermione without comment.  
  
He had to suppress a gasp when they stepped out of the darkness into the forest canopy. Someone, presumably many years ago, had constructed a way through the treetops by magically binding the thickest branches of neighbouring trees together, so that they formed a sinuous path through the treetops. Epiphytes and vines served as both decoration and safety restraints, though Severus felt that he could have found his way safely with his eyes closed. It was a heady feeling, being so far above the ground and so close to the sky. The subtle shifting of the branches with the breeze added to his fancy that he was standing on a single living, breathing creature that stretched from one end of the forest to the other. If this was the work of the Inca, he was going to have to re-think his assessment of them.  
  
She had already started walking down the path, but waited for him to catch up with him. They continued in silence for a few minutes. She seemed so lost in thought that he was startled by her sudden speech.  
  
"It's really beautiful, isn't it? I never tire of being up here. At one time, the forest had hundreds of paths like this, but most of them were lost or destroyed over the years. The Inca preferred to build paved roads rather than travel by treetop. The path we're standing on predates the Inca by a couple hundred years. When the Inca started their gambit to conquer the world, all other civilisations were so completely assimilated into the Incan culture that we don't even know what most of them were called. But if these ways in the trees are any indication, they were great civilisations in their own right."  
  
She noticed his raised eyebrow and blushed. "Sorry, there I go again. This is why I would have been a horrid teacher. I find teaching myself far more interesting than teaching anybody else. I probably wouldn't even notice if one of my students transfigured a desk into a dragon if I was caught up in a lecture."  
  
He shrugged. "It does seem that your talents and passions do not lie in the teaching profession. Being cut from the same cloth, I can hardly fault you for wanting to be more actively involved in your chosen field."  
  
"As much as I hate to point it out to you, sir, you are a teacher."  
  
"Yes," he remarked with distaste. "You have Albus Dumbledore to thank for that."  
  
"Albus Dumbledore. That's a name I haven't thought of for a long time."  
  
"I would have thought that the Martyr of Gryffindor would have had a greater effect on you, of all people." He had to suppress a smirk, relishing his knowledge that Albus was not only still alive but had been behind his trip to Peru.  
  
"A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy," she quoted, then hardened. "He was my Headmaster for seven years and my friend for at least two of those, but I couldn't bear to hear him mentioned by the time I left England. Even now, when anyone asks me where I went to school, I say Beauxbatons, just so I won't have to admit to having known him."  
  
His tone was a mite more defensive than he liked. "I would have thought-"  
  
"You misunderstand me, I never felt anything for the man but love and respect, but all anyone ever talks about is who he defeated and how he died. They never focus on the rest of his one hundred and fifty years. And beyond that, everyone seemed to think that, if you'll pardon the colourful metaphor, his shit didn't stink."  
  
His snort encouraged her.  
  
"At Cornwall, I got so tired of the veiled and not-so-veiled elegies. It was quite en vogue during my tenure to dedicate one's thesis to the memory of Albus Dumbledore. Not only do they gloss over the less orthodox facets of his personality, but they insult his memory with mindless hero-worship. The greatest gift the Headmaster gave his students was the ability to think for themselves, and that gift is cheapened by rampant sentimentality and the illusion that he was somehow invulnerable to the heartache and thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to. It's horribly dishonest to overlook the obvious fact that Albus Dumbledore was a human being and made mistakes."  
  
He was quite touched by her words, but his curiosity was piqued. "Name one."  
  
"Well, to start," she said with a straight face, "he unleashed you on thousands of unsuspecting students."  
  
An unfamiliar sensation rippled through his abdomen- a sudden tightening of muscles and uncontrollable vocalised exhalation of breath that sounded, to his ears, suspiciously like a laugh.  
  
He cleared his throat. "Well, Miss Granger, it seems as if you and I, for once, are in complete agreement. Though let us try not to make a habit of it. I'm not sure if I could withstand the shock."  
  
It was her turn to smile. "Don't worry, Professor. I doubt it will be a very common occurrence once we start work on the potion."  
  
***********************************  
  
Palanqa Research Camp  
  
26 June, 4:30 PM  
  
The sun was low in the sky and the air had taken on an edge of evening chill before they reached camp, which was somewhat of a generous appellation, in Severus' opinion. Hermione explained that the ramshackle building was used for weekly progress meetings, the shack housed a shower, sink and toilet -largely for appearances' sake- and that each of the dozen or so researchers had his or her own climate-controlled tent. The only remotely interesting part of the camp was the fire pit, which camouflaged an underground storage space for contraband. She laughed at his expression, and explained that the CHUMPs - Coca Harvest Undercover Magical Police - were infamous for looting research camps for chocolate, cigarettes, alcohol, or anything else that struck their fancy. It wasn't until they'd taken Tino's prized guitar that they understood the necessity of having a secret stash.  
  
Severus wanted to know why it was so quiet.  
  
Hermione glanced quickly at the sky. "Well, we missed the lunch crowd, so I imagine everyone's either working on their projects or resting up for dragon duty. We've got quite a nice variety of disciplines right now; there's me, grubbing around for quipu, Tino, who's been here nearly ten years studying the social and mating habits of the local dragons, Anna, who does something for the Israeli government that she's not allowed to discuss, a magilepidopterist named Yingwei, Barnaby and Hadi who are doing a fascinating arithmantical analysis of the labyrinth beneath the Condor Temple in Machu Picchu, and a research team from America. I think they're studying Incan water magic, since they spend a lot of time over at Tambomachay, but they've only been here about a month, and they haven't been terribly friendly. It hasn't helped that the others pretend not to speak English."  
  
She yawned deeply. "If you'll excuse me, Professor, I think I need a few hours of sleep. My dragon watch started at midnight, so I hadn't planned on doing much besides sleep today. Besides, we can't find the orchid until after dark, anyway."  
  
"Why is that?"  
  
She led him over to her tent and zipped the plastic outer sheet behind them. "You'll understand when you see it. I'd let you see a dried sample, but I used the last of it in my most recent series of tests. You're more than welcome to go through my notes."  
  
She tapped her wand on the wall, and the air in the entrance hall was quickly expelled from an unseen vent. The replacement air was dry and pleasantly warm. Following her lead, he kicked off his boots and wandered past a tiny kitchenette and a table piled high with seemingly haphazard stacks of parchment. After consolidating a few piles of parchment to make room for the bottle of homemade rum, she tossed her utility belt over the back of another chair.  
  
He managed not to stare at the contortionist act of Granger removing the dragon-skin vest without removing her shirt.  
  
The rest of the room had an absurdly high book-to-furniture ratio, but at least contained a comfortable reading chair and a large bed with a faded blue duvet. The walls were completely covered with the quipu. The brightly dyed ropes were hung from wooden rods attached to the ceiling, though some strands were knotted tightly to other lengths of rope.  
  
Upon closer inspection, he began to understand how Granger had spent over four years working on translations. Each rope contained about a hundred knots, and the knots were separated into groups, and appeared to be some kind of numerical code. To confuse matters further, some ropes had been knotted together. Some were spun from animal hair, others appeared to be of vegetable origin. He couldn't even begin to imagine what the multitude of colours signified. Yet each rope was carefully labelled and corresponded to a shelf of volumes with similarly coloured spines.  
  
He was distracted from his inspection by Hermione tugging off her leggings and slipping into bed. "Help yourself to anything in the cupboards or icebox," she said with a yawn. "The loo is off on the right, my lab is on the left, and my pain potions notes are on the table." She released her hair from its bindings again so that it tumbled over the pillow. "You can use Margaret to have your things sent here," she gestured towards the large owl that eyed the proceedings disinterestedly from her perch in the corner. Hermione rolled on to her stomach; a move that effectively conveyed that she was no longer open to discussion.  
  
Severus made a habit of choosing to fight the battles he could win, and he was perfectly aware that his curiosity was no match for her need for sleep, especially when he wanted to do nothing more than lie down next to her and surrender to the exhaustion that had made its insistent presence known upon first viewing the bed. The high-altitude trek was taking its toll, in spite of Vidalia's coca-laced energising tea.  
  
However, he was not about to give action to that particular impulse, so he jotted a quick note to Vidalia and sent the owl off to Cusco. That having been accomplished, he hastily began shuffling through the parchments on the table. They were arranged in a way that he first attributed to haphazardness, but after going through the contents of his first stack, he began to understand the reason for their peculiar array. The thickest pile was comprised of ingredient proportions and processes from failed experiments. From their profusion and variety, he surmised that Hermione's quipu translation was not much more precise than his poem.  
  
A cursory flip through the pile had him snorting, despite his best efforts to remain objective. Had she learned nothing in her seven years of potions at Hogwarts? Even if she intended to use corn as the base for her potion -for reasons that were not immediately evident- she should have used an acidic substance, such as Vipertooth venom or even vinegar, to activate the other ingredients before applying heat. At present, the ingredients would have resulted in a very bitter corn soup. But a series of jaw-cracking yawns soon interrupted his critique of Miss Granger's slipshod methods.  
  
Struggling against his growing exhaustion, he grabbed a stack of notes and sat down heavily in the chair. It was not long before his head grew heavy. His eyelids felt as if they were full of sand. He didn't realize he had slumped over until the sound of Hermione's notes fluttering to the floor woke him. Apparently it had awoken her, too.  
  
"Oh for heaven's sake," came her exasperated voice. Her face was half- buried in the pillow. "If you want to rest, there's more than enough room for two."  
  
He was too tired to give voice to his feeble protestations. He removed his outer robe, tossed himself on to the bed and burrowed ruthlessly beneath the covers. As he drifted into oblivion, he felt a hand clumsily pat his back.  
  
"Sweet dreams, Professor."  
  
He would have ordered her to stop calling him "professor" if it hadn't involved moving.  
  
******************************  
  
End Note: Pretty-please review!  
  
Next Chapter: A Sneak Attack, Hermione's Ex, Leather Trousers, and the Orchid Hunt. 


	5. Chapter 5

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
Author: Mundungus42  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com Rating: A relatively tame PG-13 Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance Disclaimer: I've got sunshine on a cloudy day. Author's Notes: Have at it!  
  
  
  
The sixth sense that had allowed Severus to survive his stint as a double agent was what woke him moments before the man pounced. The room was almost entirely dark, though a faint flicker of orange light seemed to come in the direction of the outside door. Against it, Severus could see the silhouette of a man creeping silently towards the bed. He mentally cursed his stupidity for leaving his wand in the cloak that he'd thrown on the ground. He soundlessly moved his arms above the duvet and braced for attack.  
  
He did not have to wait for long. The man pounced, but Severus used the man's momentum to fling him over the bed and on to the floor. He yelped in pain and surprise. Hermione shot out of bed. Two simultaneous cries of lumos filled the room with crackling light, and Severus saw a dark haired man on the floor rubbing the back of his head, which had struck the floor. Hermione leaped out of bed and over to where he lay with a stern expression on her face, though her eyes were shining.  
  
"Serves you right, Tino. You're lucky not to be a newt right now."  
  
"Jesus, Danger, you might have warned me that you had a Mr. Danger staying with you." He staggered to his feet dramatically. "You didn't show up at the meeting, and nobody had seen you all afternoon."  
  
She stopped mid-stretch. "The meeting? What time is it?"  
  
"Eight-thirty, Sleeping Beauty. What tired you out so much?" He raised an eyebrow at Severus. "Or do I want to know?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Ha ha. Florentino Del Real, Dragon Husbandrist Extraordinaire, meet Severus Snape, Potions Master. He's helping me with one of my quipu potions projects. I can't believe I slept this long! I have a million things to do- oh, and I'm sorry about missing the meeting."  
  
"We figured you were tired out from patrol, and muddled on without you. Not much to report. CHUMPs made off with most of Brittany's romance novels, and she's pretty pissed. But other than that, nada."  
  
"Well, speaking of patrol." She stretched languidly. "Look over on the table. See anything interesting?"  
  
"Apart from the charming display of Granger's organisational skills," Severus added.  
  
Hermione shot him an irritated look, but Tino grinned. "And her lab is the worst of it, you know."  
  
Severus' eyebrows shot up. "I wonder that she's been able to get along as well as she has. In her student days, she was, at the very least, able to keep her homework assignments separate."  
  
"What is this? Jump on Hermione Day?"  
  
"If you insist, Danger." Tino pounced, but she had quickly skittered to the far side of the table where she dangled the bottle in the air.  
  
"Ah, ah, ah! If you don't behave yourself, you won't get any of this."  
  
Tino's eyes widened. "Is that what I think it is?"  
  
"Especial del Jefe? Si!"  
  
"How in nine hells did you get your hands on it?'  
  
"We bagged Puquio this morning."  
  
"No shit?"  
  
"No shit."  
  
His demeanour changed abruptly. "Beauteous Hermione, my starlit sky, my glorious sunrise, I'll walk barefoot over hot coals, I'll devour fire, I'll even leave you alone - but let me try some! Please?"  
  
To Severus' irritation, she appeared to be susceptible to galling flattery.  
  
"Just this once, Tino, but I'm holding you to the 'leaving me alone' bit, at least for the next couple of days." She handed him the bottle, which he stroked reverently before removing the cork with his teeth and sucking down a generous gulp.  
  
Two minutes later, he was still gulping water between fits of coughing.  
  
"That," he rasped, "is what I call hooch!"  
  
Hermione looked torn between laughter and concern. "In high enough concentrations, uchu can actually blister oral tissues. You can use milk to counteract the-"  
  
"Danger, I'm fine. A little went down the wrong tube is all."  
  
She gave him a look, which became considerably less effective when he fiercely tousled her hair.  
  
"Really, Tino!"  
  
"Really, Danger. I'll live. I just needed a little bit of liquid fortification for dragon duty tonight. Since you've been so sweet, I'll even bring you some more venom, provided I get close enough. I also wanted to make sure you weren't lying bleeding in a ravine somewhere. I'll see you tomorrow sometime." He dropped a light kiss on her cheek and nodded to Severus. "Nice to meet you, Snape. I hope Danger doesn't work you to death."  
  
Severus looked intently at the retreating figure.  
  
"Is he your- um-"  
  
"Ex-um."  
  
He relaxed infinitesimally. "You seem on friendly enough terms."  
  
"We've worked and lived in this camp for far longer than we were together romantically. He's brilliant at what he does and he's a real laugh, but we were hardly destined for one another."  
  
Severus snorted. "If you believe in destiny."  
  
She acknowledged this with a one-shouldered shrug. "It sounds better than 'he wanted me to be someone else.'"  
  
"Who?"  
  
She looked thoughtful. "Someone a little less self-sufficient."  
  
"Hence the adorable nickname."  
  
She made a face. "Danger Granger. Fortunately, he's the only one who still calls me that. The others know better. They wised up after the Latvian had a breakdown and had to leave the camp. Seems some of the local wildlife drove him a bit buggy." There was no small amount of satisfaction in her smirk, and Severus began to wonder if he had underestimated the finer and more dangerous points of Hermione Granger.  
  
He simultaneously realized that she wasn't wearing any trousers. Unfortunately, she noticed him noticing, and smiled. Severus scowled.  
  
"I'll just go dress for supper then, shall I? We should have something to eat before we go orchid hunting. See what you can find in the kitchen."  
  
His eyes discreetly followed the lean brown legs until they disappeared into the washroom.  
  
  
  
Dinner and conversation were both pleasantly spicy. Hermione had thrown together a savoury rice and bean concoction that was seasoned with several things Severus couldn't identify. Not to be outdone, he transformed a pile of grubby yams into an elaborate pave'. He pretended not to hear Hermione giggle at his ostentatiously presented dish, and she pretended not to see him repeatedly dab the spice-induced sweat from his brow.  
  
Their discussion of Hermione's research was far less amicable. The food had served to re-energise them both, and Severus soon found himself deluged by questions about rare ingredients. Most Potions Masters would have been insulted to be asked about them, since a vast majority of them had no use other than in dark potions. To his irritation, she seemed even better able to detect prevarication than she had in the afternoon.  
  
After nearly a quarter-hour's debate on natural versus manufactured alkaloids, the food long having since been devoured, Hermione glanced at the clock on the wall.  
  
"We should be going. We're going to need all the hours of dark we can get." She glanced at his attire. "Since your things haven't arrived yet, you'll have to borrow something of mine." She busied herself with digging through a set of drawers, which were built into the bed frame.  
  
"I wasn't aware that this evening's excursion had a dress code."  
  
Her retort was brisk. "If you'd like to freeze, you're more than welcome." She tossed him a bundle of clothes and began removing hers in favour of heavy fur-lined leather garments. "One of those ought to fit you all right."  
  
To his dismay, the pair of trousers she apparently expected him to wear was identical to the pair she was wearing, though they were much tighter on him. He pulled on an oversized wool jumper - red, of course - and yanked it down as far as it would go to cover the indignity-masquerading-as-a-pair-of- trousers. By the time he had donned the shaggy coat, which appeared to be made of llama fur, he was feeling mutinous.  
  
"I feel positively ridiculous!" He exclaimed when Hermione shot him a quizzical look. "If anyone sees me in this foolish get-up, I will hex them into tomorrow. And then I'll hex you into tomorrow. And then I will incinerate these ridiculous trousers!"  
  
To his surprise, Hermione looked slightly hurt. "What's wrong with the trousers? I figured you'd be protesting the Gryffindor-red jumper more than the trousers. At least they're practical."  
  
Severus was rendered speechless, though not for long. "Practical!?"  
  
"Yes, practical. If we didn't have animal skins to mask our scents, the dragons would be on us in no time. Unlike most species of dragon, the Vipertooth's preferred meal is human. We'll also be on top of ridge. It will be windy and bitterly cold, so I guarantee you'll be glad of the fur. Oh, and don't forget to wear your hood. Sixty percent of your body heat goes out the top of your head, you know."  
  
She reached behind his head and pulled the very heavy hood down over his head, nearly covering his eyes. While he fussed with the drawstrings of his hood, she pulled on her own coat and grabbed an old but reliable-looking broom from the corner.  
  
"Shall we be off?"  
  
Severus' scowl faded. "If we must."  
  
The night was chilly and nearly pitch dark, but several of the tents were lit brightly from within. She clambered on to the broom and gestured for him to join her.  
  
"Climb on and hold tight."  
  
"Aren't you forgetting something, Miss Granger?"  
  
"And what would that be, Professor?"  
  
"Your hood." He allowed his palm to linger on her warm neck a moment longer than strictly necessary as he gently pulled the soft curls off her neck and eased up her hood. "Sixty percent of your body heat, you realize." Suddenly, he jumped backwards in horrified surprise.  
  
"What is it, Professor?"  
  
"Your hood! It has ears!"  
  
"Of course it has ears. We're disguised as llamas. Dragons, remember?"  
  
"Granger, if a dragon is not fooled by your scent, it will not suddenly go away because it sees large ears sticking out of your head."  
  
"Well, it's worked so far." She was beginning to sound irritated. "And I did not make these coats to live up to your fashion standards. I made them to give us a better chance of surviving in an inhospitable climate. So if you please, Professor, shut up."  
  
While testing the limits of her patience would have been amusing, it was hardly conducive to a successful orchid hunt, which Severus was surprised to find himself keenly anticipating.  
  
He didn't realize until they were airborne that his hood had ears as well. Oh, she was going to pay for this.  
  
  
  
Q'enqo Ridge, Elevation 4,262 Metres  
  
26 June, 10:56 PM  
  
Though he never would have admitted it, Severus was profoundly grateful for the heavy, windproof clothes, even the ridiculous llama coat. They'd been combing the barren mountainside for what seemed like hours and his face was numb, but his arms and legs were delightfully warm. He was following Hermione across a ridge far above the timberline. The moon was a tiny sliver, but provided enough light for him to avoid occasional patches of ice-crusted snow between the few scrubby bushes. However, the crumbling rocks settled unpredictably under his feet, and the great gusts of wind from over the ridge nearly sent him tumbling more than once.  
  
Unfortunately, he could see little else since Hermione refused to light her wand for more than a moment at a time, preferring to pick her way along the ridge in near-total darkness. She had not spoken since landing on the ridge, since the combination of wind and think fur hoods made conversation difficult, but she had explained that it would be far better for the orchid if they searched in complete darkness. She was lucky that his response was lost in the wind.  
  
It was somewhat frustrating for him to follow a former student, particularly this former student, on a species-hunt. He still found it hard to believe that someone with such an impatient disposition had ever managed to locate such an elusive plant, though he suspected luck had more to do with it than anything else. Merlin knew the girl had led a charmed existence thus far, from having her pick of any magical university in the world to surviving the war with the majority of her friends intact. Always able to claw her way to the top of the pile and come out with not so much as a broken nail.  
  
And here she was, face pale and determined in the intermittent wand light, looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack and blithely unaware of the impossibility of their task. Well, if Danger Granger was on the case, who was he to stand in her way?  
  
His sigh was inaudible in the wind.  
  
Her gait was remarkably steady, for all the wind and uneven terrain, her silhouette clearly outlined against the impossibly starry sky. She was bent into the wind, which blew her hood's ridiculous ears nearly parallel to the ground.  
  
She stopped suddenly and lit her wand, and he was not quick enough to avoid walking into her. Fortunately, the gusts were too loud at the moment for her to waste breath on pointless commentary, or so he hoped.  
  
"I think I see one," she yelled over a particularly strong gust. "Stay here with the wand. If the blossoms get too close to the light, they shrivel up."  
  
Severus wondered how many blooms she'd gone through before she figured that out, but responded only with a curt nod. She handed him the wand, and shinnied up the side of a large boulder.  
  
She was back a few minutes later with a triumphant grin on her face and a black cloth bag clutched in her fist.  
  
  
  
End Note: Please please please review?  
  
Next chapter: The Great Work Begins, Manual Therapy for Anxious Hands, Sparks Fly. 


	6. Chapter 6

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
Author: Mundungus42  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com Rating: A relatively tame PG-13 Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance Disclaimer: If I owned it, you'd know. Come to think of it, I'd know too. I must not own it.  
  
  
  
Palanqa Research Camp  
  
26 June, 11:37PM  
  
Severus' intended revenge for the llama ears was soon forgotten in his pleasure at finding his luggage stacked neatly by the bed upon their return and a set of his own clothes laid out on the bed. There was also a chatty note from Vidalia inviting him to tea a before he left that was discarded without a second thought. He was most anxious to be wearing his own clothes again.  
  
Hermione announced that she needed to wash off the smell of llama, and shooed Severus into her lab to begin purifying the orchid essence. Tino had been right. The place was a complete mess. Tangled and filthy quipu hung from shelves, there was glassware on the floor, and books and papers were piled perilously high on every horizontal plane.  
  
He briefly entertained the notion of taking the orchid and making a break for Vidalia's.  
  
After unceremoniously shoving all of the unnecessary equipment, papers, and a few dirty shirts into a large cauldron in the corner, he began setting up the bench as close to his own laboratory set-up as possible, since he would be working in near-darkness.  
  
He was surprised to note that in spite of the chaos, her equipment was all clean and in excellent repair. When he had arranged things to his satisfaction, he extinguished the candles, turned the burner to low, and removed the black star orchid from the bag.  
  
The stem held about five blossoms, each with five delicately pointed petals. They were velvety black, but the glowing purple liquid that flowed through the vascular system shone through the waxy cuticle, causing the petals to shimmer softly in the darkness. The central cup, which was shaped like a doll's slipper, had luminous patches that swirled around the curves like blown glass. Severus could certainly understand how the Inca believed the blossom was a gift from the moon goddess. Crushing them into paste with his pestle was decidedly satisfying.  
  
He nearly jumped when he saw her move in his peripheral vision. He was in the middle of aliquotting his distillation into small tubes, and was trying to stay focused on his distribution spell. When he had finished, he turned to face her.  
  
Her hair lay in damp waves about her shoulders, and she was dressed in a heavy velvety-looking robe. He could tell it was crimson, even in the dim light. Typical.  
  
"You work quickly," she remarked, gesturing to the meticulously prepared mixture in front of her. "I'd still be trying to crush the petals to uniform consistency."  
  
He brushed aside the compliment with a wave of his hand and began finely chopping the orchid stem. "Any reasonably competent potions brewer could have done so."  
  
A half-smile quirked her lips. "Modesty does not become you, Professor. I liked it much better when you called me a dunderhead outright."  
  
He gave a humph. "And I liked it better when I was able to cow you into relative silence, but it seems that your stubbornness is a force to be reckoned with. As long as you're determined to create this potion I'll be forced tolerate your company for the duration."  
  
"Why Professor, if that isn't the sweetest thing I've ever heard." Her bored drawl was worthy of Draco Malfoy at his best. Brat.  
  
When he had finished chopping the stem, she scooped it into a small dish and covered it with a dark cloth. When the distillation had been similarly covered, she lit the candles with a murmur.  
  
"I put the corn on to simmer before we left, so it should be nearly tender enough to prepare by now. Now, I know you didn't get all the way through my notes, so I'll just brief you on my findings." She began to rattle off the things she'd tried previously, but Severus interrupted.  
  
"Miss Granger, nowhere in my source does it mention anything about using corn as a base for the potion. As a matter of fact, it claims the main ingredient is leopard teeth."  
  
Her eyebrows shot up. "Leopard teeth?"  
  
"Then Chuqui-llantu plucked the teeth From the mottled cat that stalks the fields When daylight grows and night-time wanes Then by Acoya-napa kneels."  
  
Severus was rewarded for his recitation by a moment of silent thought. It was over entirely too soon.  
  
"Whoever did the second translation of that poem did a really horrible job," she announced, and promptly left the lab. When she returned, she had a pot of greyish mush and a notebook. She tossed the latter to him and began picking the large lumps out of the former. "Look up the word michi khiru That's m-i-c-h-i-."  
  
He cut her off with an impatient wave of his hand. The notebook was an impossibly neat handwritten glossary of plant names in English, Spanish, and Quechua. This from the girl who left dirty clothes draped over her lab bench?  
  
Michi khiru: an immature ear of maize, lit. 'cat tooth.' Higher in niacin than mature corn.  
  
Was the mottled cat's tooth immature varicoloured maize? Possible, assuming Granger's translation was accurate.  
  
"Now that your things have arrived, I'd like to have a look at your poem. Fascinating how it's survived, even in translation. Still, the Inca had about fifty different words for corn and dozens more referring to specifically prepared corn dishes, so I'll be on the lookout for bad corn metaphors." She was pouring the boiled corn into another container. Severus had come up behind her, watching her progress.  
  
"What do you think you're doing?" he snapped. "If you've been using maize this poorly prepared in all your attempts, its no wonder you've failed miserably so far."  
  
"For your information, Professor, I've already had three articles on maize- based potions published in peer-reviewed periodicals, not to mention my analysis of kernel parts in various states of maturity that appeared in The Journal of Horticultural Alchemy-"  
  
"If this," he gestured at the mess on the table, "is what you wrote about, your paper and your parts are pure crap."  
  
He snatched the cauldron from her and dumped the rest of the corn back in, before she had a chance to protest. He strained the liquid into a clean beaker, which he placed over the burner, then transferred all the solids, including the lumps she'd picked out, into a small bowl, which he handed to her.  
  
"The entire kernel is always used unless otherwise noted," he explained impatiently. "Otherwise, the intrinsic chemical proportions for which the ingredient is selected are thrown out of balance. Crush the solids- uniformly this time, if you're capable- then stir them in when the liquid boils. I trust you still have the necessary skill to do that."  
  
To his dismay, her hands went to her hips. Argument posture if he ever saw it.  
  
"I was not aware that you had studied the potions of the Inca in detail, Professor."  
  
"Of course I haven't, silly girl. However, the fact that I am a Potions Master seems to have escaped you. I know how to prepare and utilize nearly every known ingredient to its maximum effectiveness."  
  
"I know you do, Professor, but do you think the Inca did?"  
  
What? He raised his eyebrows, but she continued without pausing.  
  
"Did it ever occur to you that you can't always use a modern approach to potions brewing when working with historical potions? They didn't have depth of scholarship on the subject; they had a few brilliant potions- makers who passed the majority of their recipes down orally. If we are attempting to use a remnant of that oral tradition as instructions, we'd better be doing things as the Inca did, or at least as close as we can get."  
  
Did she think she was calling the shots? The sooner she was disabused of that notion the better.  
  
"I was under the impression that your previous attempts at this potion were unsuccessful at best. I was also under the impression that we were not attempting to re-create the potion, but rather taking advantage of my far greater expertise on the subject to create a modern and less hazardous variant. If this is not the case, then by all means, don't bother eliminating unknown variables and reducing the possibility of experimental error. The best way to do that is to use inconsistent and shoddily prepared components."  
  
She looked furious, but she held her tongue.  
  
"Very good, Miss Granger. Now get to work."  
  
He took the opportunity to retrieve the book of poetry from his trunk. By the time he returned, Hermione had finished adding the hull paste and recovered her dignity somewhat.  
  
"It's amazing how much things change, how little they don't," Hermione mused. "Boil and crush, the very first things I ever had to do in Potions. Though it was porcupine quills and snake fangs, do you remember?"  
  
Severus set the book down and began idly stripping cuna feathers. "As if I could forget the syllabus I've taught for the last twenty years. And still most students go through seven years without realizing the importance of proper preparation."  
  
"Perhaps there's a lesson there," Hermione suggested mildly, removing the corn mush from the burner.  
  
"Miss Granger, as I'm sure you've gathered, I have no patience for people who will not apply themselves in my classroom, nor do I feel the least bit responsible for those who, in all of their seven years, never learned to brew so much as a satisfactory batch of pumpkin juice. I will admit to having taught a handful of students who possessed the inclination to succeed, but the fact is that most students have about as much patience for potions as I have for their inattention. As you can see, the poisonous toadstool has neither the inclination nor the ability to change his spots."  
  
She hadn't been listening. She was staring at the open book with an odd look on her face.  
  
He cleared his throat loudly. No response. "Miss Granger!"  
  
Her head shot up at his sharp tone. He was taken slightly aback by the hungry look in her eye until he realized that it was not directed at him.  
  
"Century plant."  
  
"Pardon?"  
  
"The Spanish called it isabela. I knew I was missing an ingredient to make it last in storage, because a section of the quipu disintegrated completely. But it all makes sense now."  
  
She was pacing and running her hands through her wet hair, oblivious to his presence. "I never realized that the soqos was just for stability. It's the century plant that sends the magic into hibernation. When it was needed, they added jimson weed to activate the other ingredients. I can't believe I didn't think of it before!"  
  
His sarcastic clapping snapped her attention back to him.  
  
"Well done, Miss Granger. You now may or may not have the complete list of ingredients to a potent hallucinogenic compound that will likely cause liver damage, severe constipation, and violent psychosis. This is only the first step."  
  
Her defence was automatic but half-hearted. "The extra niacin may lower cholesterol levels."  
  
"A fact I'm sure the warriors would have appreciated had they not destroyed themselves so sportingly."  
  
She ignored him and went back to reading the poem. "I've never come across this legend before. All of the references to this potion I've come across were somewhat apocryphal, as you can probably tell from my experiment notes. Even my quipu has only a fraction of what this has. This tells the process, and in rhyming couplets, no less. And it illustrates my point."  
  
He made an impatient noise. "Wait until you get to the end before deciding whose point the story better illustrates. If I recall correctly, Acoya- Napa, the daughter of the sun, created the potion to save her mortal lover after a dragon bit him. The lover recovered, but only because he felt no pain. The downside is that the potion prompted him to attack the lightning god in a fit of hubris, and was struck down immediately. It is a parable for caution and the double-edged nature of gifts from the gods. Something that you would do well to remember the next time you decide to resurrect long-forgotten magic."  
  
She sighed impatiently. "I meant, it proves that experiments using ingredients prepared as the Inca did might shed some light on the more subtle workings of the potion. See? Here, the poem refers to dicing the innards of the spiny desert fish, which makes absolutely no sense, except that the native word tuna is a kind of cactus fruit. I have quipu instructions for preparing tuna in the Stayaway Solution, and it involves stirring for ten minutes and removing all that's not liquefied, like I was doing with the corn. With a little bit of luck, we'll have this potion together in no time!"  
  
Her enthusiasm was contagious, and he was thoroughly disgusted with himself. He was in for a long night.  
  
"Granger, put the book down. We have hours, if not days of theoretical discussion before we can even start turning these ingredients into something that won't cause the drinker to have a psychotic episode, especially if the rest of the translation is as dubious as the section about the leopard teeth."  
  
She grinned. "If you're not careful, Professor, you may end up set for life from half the royalties."  
  
He sighed theatrically and massaged his eyelids with the fingertips of one hand. "Only if I wish to go down in history as the man who caused more cases of cardiac arrest than the Paris premiere of The Rite of Spring. Now, if you would be so kind as to fetch the latest edition of Index Infusia, some blank parchment, a pot of strong coffee, and large wooden mallet, we can get started."  
  
"Why the large wooden mallet?"  
  
"So I can club myself into oblivion before starting this hare-brained enterprise."  
  
There was no trace of guile or seduction in the brief squeeze of his shoulder.  
  
"Thank you, Prof- I mean, Severus. I couldn't do this without you."  
  
The corner of his mouth rose in spite of himself. "I know."  
  
  
  
End Note: Review me! Review me!  
  
Next Chapter: Heavy Drinking! Backhanded Compliments! Camp Intruders! An Abundantly Charming Valley Girl! 


	7. Chapter 7

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
  
Author: Mundungus42  
  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: A relatively tame PG-13  
  
Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance  
  
Disclaimer: Harry Potter burning bright- In the Hogwarts fading light- what ingenious hand or eye- could make thy perfect symmetry? (I'll give you two hints- it's not me, and it's not Blake)  
  
Author's Note: I am floored by the comments (even the suggestion that I need a bata (sic) reader :). Thank you all so much! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story, because there's still rather a lot left to post.  
Sincerely,  
ME, ELOISE  
  
*******************************  
  
Four hours and a few draughts of Especial del Jefe later, Severus found himself lying on Hermione's bed reciting alchemic equations of questionable relevance while Hermione scribbled half-heartedly in the chair. The rum sat low in his stomach, sending pleasant tendrils of warmth through his body. Now that the blistering heat in his mouth had faded to merely scorching, he glanced at his unlikely partner, who was draped languidly over the chair. Her robe was voluminous enough to cover her upper legs sufficiently, even with both of them flung over the arm of the chair, though her rosy feet and calves dangled free. The potent alcohol did not seem to have affected her much, apart from flushed skin and slightly heavier eyelids.  
  
He was beginning to regret his nap, since it was nearly four in the morning and his energy was showing no sign of flagging. He felt he at least owed lip service to the local time, even if he was to be in it for less than 48 more hours. Hermione, thankfully, showed no sign of tiring, either.  
  
The past hours had been, until recently, relatively industrious. He found himself attacking the problems with vigour. It had been years since he'd felt such enthusiasm for a project- not that he would ever admit it to her. She spent the time revising her notes- no small task- and designing experiments based on them, while he puttered around the lab trying to isolate target substances from the orchid essence. It was not exciting work, but he was skilled enough to make it go swiftly.  
  
This orchid was fundamentally different from the other magical orchids he had worked with on account of its strategy for survival in such harsh environs. Unlike other plants that hoarded water in fleshy leaves or delayed their germination cycles until conditions were more conducive to growth, the orchid lived because its systems had one goal: reproduction. While the plant demonstrated many characteristics of its fellow rock- dwellers, such as delaying CO2 exchange until the sun was down and absorbing moisture from the air, its daring display of magic was its reproductive cycle. Without warning, the plant would literally transform its vestigial reproductive structures, stems, leaves, and roots into a single large and singularly impressive, mobile seed. The seed would roll off in search of more hospitable surroundings to germinate or be lost.  
  
Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket.  
  
Fortunately, his experience with other orchidae afforded him a fair amount of success. A few hours later, he had managed to separate the orchid essence into six unfamiliar compounds by molecular weight. Of these, two of them glowed softly; one red, and one blue.  
  
As he held aloft one glowing red vial, Severus had the feeling that he was looking at one of the more unpleasant compounds. He put the six sets of vials back into the cupboard and went to the kitchen for more coffee.  
  
He found Hermione there, absently brewing what looked like a pot of thick ink. A wooden spoon lay across the pages of the book she was attempting to read while stirring the black mass.  
  
"Pitch?"  
  
"Espresso."  
  
Pitch would have tasted better.  
  
Coffee led to beer, and beer led to the bottle of Especial del Jefe. The rum led to laid-back introspection, and a moment of shock when Hermione's face appeared above his and jarred him from his thoughts. Even had his iron grip on himself not been relaxed by the rum, he would have grimaced. Her curls tickled his lips.  
  
"So did you want a refill on rum or not? If I were Tino, I would have taken your silence for a no, and finished the bottle myself. However, I am not Tino, and I don't want to waste our time together sleeping off a hangover. You've been quiet. Do you want to call it a night? I may stay up a bit longer. I think I've got my third wind. Did you have a chance to have a look at my experiment designs? If so, what do you think we should use as an assay, assuming you've got some idea our mystery compound's structure?"  
  
She said all this very fast. Either that, or he understood it very slow. He pushed her aside and sat up.  
  
"Stop hovering, Miss Granger. The last thing I want to see when I'm trying to think is your face."  
  
"Thank you, Professor." She flounced down next to him on the bed.  
  
He sat up, annoyed with her for finding a buried compliment when he'd meant to be dismissive and even more so with himself for uttering it. "A few sips of alcohol and you're reduced to a prattling schoolgirl," he sneered. "You will have no more tonight."  
  
He snatched the bottle from her hands and began to recork it. Thinking better of it, he refilled his glass before replacing the cork and putting it on a shelf that was out of her reach.  
  
With a flick of her wand, she summoned the bottle and cockily filled her glass a bit fuller than his. What had her liver done to deserve such abuse?  
  
"So, Professor. To what shall we drink?"  
  
The irritating defiant tone was back. He took a hearty swig of his drink and blessed the bracing streak of fire that followed it down his throat.  
  
"To nothing, you silly girl," he snapped, stalking toward her in what he hoped was a menacing manner. Odd. Her floor must be slanted somehow. He reached for her glass, but it wasn't where he expected it to be. He overcorrected, lost his balance and fell unceremoniously on the floor.  
  
She stared at him with a horrified expression on her face, which disintegrated into helpless giggles.  
  
To his horror, her giggles erupted into full-fledged peals of laughter.  
  
For the first time in years, Severus Snape felt his face grow red. He could handle being hated, ignored, and flirted with, but her mirth at his expense made him feel like he was fifteen and the Gryffindor whipping boy again. Long-forgotten taunts rang in his ears, and in his alcohol-fogged and hair- obscured vision, her bushy brown hair mingled with wavy black, and her guileless face twisted into a malicious leer.  
  
His hand flew protectively to his throat, as it felt as if his heart had suddenly taken up residence there, and he stared at the apparition before him. A moment later, his vision cleared, and he got to his feet. He snatched his toilet bag with a shaking hand and headed toward the washroom.  
  
"Severus," she called after him, still giggling, and he paused without turning. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you were hurt. Peace offering? Getting food in your stomach helps with, you know, the balance problem."  
  
She went to the table and tossed the bag of CHUMP at him. Unfortunately, he did not turn in time to see it coming, and it caught him squarely in the nose before falling to the floor.  
  
She stared at the bag on the floor for a moment before collapsing over the back of the chair with laughter. Severus had had enough.  
  
Several guffaws later, she realized that he was staring at her with a contemptuous sneer.  
  
"Were you quite finished, Granger?"  
  
The icy tone brought her to her senses. Her hand was suddenly on his arm, and she was standing very close. "I didn't mean to hit you with the CHUMP, Sir." Her breath was soft and warm on his face. He shook off the observation quickly and focused on getting words out clearly and distinctly.  
  
"Remove your hand."  
  
"I was just thinking when the bag fell on the ground, that I hoped you'd still enjoy the CHUMP, and it suddenly occurred to me that if that happened, you'd be off your CHUMP-"  
  
She trailed off as he yanked his arm from her grasp.  
  
"This drunken display of humour is nearly as disgusting as it is unamusing. I am going to bed, and I suggest you do the same, for the sake of your precious project. Pray that I am still here when you wake up."  
  
She met his eyes for a moment, then lowered hers.  
  
"Perhaps we better call it a night, then, Professor."  
  
"I daresay that's the best idea you've ever had."  
  
His shower was quick and scalding, and it made him a bit light-headed. He also used the last of Hermione's spicy-smelling shampoo out of spite. He was quite distressed to find that his Priam's Peerless Pomade was not in his bag. He hadn't required its use during his brief stay in Lima and at Vidalia's home in Cusco, as cleansing charms made showers during trips impractical and shampooing even more so.  
  
But succumbing to the delights of hot water and petty revenge had a price, and he would have to pay it with fluffy hair unless he could find another solution. Still, he told himself, it was hardly the end of the world. It wasn't as if Granger had never seen frizzy hair before.  
  
He tossed his hair net into the bin, for all the good it did him, and began quietly rummaging through her shelves for hair supplies. He was disappointed to discover a plethora of Muggle items, each more dubious- looking than the next. He first inspected a concoction called "mousse," that he quickly returned to the shelf, figuring the sugar would make his hair sticky. "Hot oil treatment" and "ultra-hold spray" were also summarily tossed aside. Neither looked as if they had seen much use, anyway. He finally decided on something called "leave-in conditioner," which promised to "revitalize" his hair by "nourishing it with essential vitamins and minerals."  
  
While combing it through his hair, Severus contemplated informing Hermione that hair is, by definition dead. However, that would have involved speaking to her.  
  
However, she was asleep by the time he emerged from the washroom, limbs tossed haphazardly on top of the covers, snoring softly. She had transfigured the chair into a single bed for his use. He was most annoyed with himself that he had half expected to repeat the afternoon's sleeping arrangements, though, this time, with no interruption by Tino. Well, so much the better, he thought to himself as he settled into bed.  
  
In spite of Granger, he was enjoying himself far more as Severus Snape on this trip than as Johnson Palmer on any of his others. The last thing he wanted was for it to turn into the next of his books.  
  
**********************************  
  
In Severus' experience, alcohol, in any quantity larger than a couple of drinks was best slept off. However, the shriek of breached magical wards an hour later left him very little choice in the matter.  
  
He leaped unsteadily out of bed and lit his wand. Hermione was attempting to shove the pillow into her ears, and he considered doing the same but for the rush of adrenalin that accompanied the blaring wards. He shook her shoulder until she emerged, albeit with a few muttered words that would have made a curse breaker blush.  
  
They both stumbled out of the tent into a small crowd of sleepy-looking people who were milling about the fire pit. The sun was just beginning to lighten the edge of the eastern sky, and the air was still cold, which made Severus' head ache.  
  
One shivering girl in a satin chemise approached Hermione. She had to yell to be heard over the blaring wards.  
  
"What's going on? Where's Tino?" The flat vowels indicated some sort of American upbringing, though it was not an area with which Severus was familiar.  
  
Hermione gave the slightest of winces at the girl's loud voice. Heh. Served her right. "I don't know what's happened, Brittany," she yelled back. "I only just got here myself. Tino's on dragon duty tonight. What time is it?"  
  
The girl put one hand on her hip. "Hello? Does it look like I'm wearing a watch?"  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and wandered off behind her tent.  
  
The girl's eyes fell on Severus, and she began raking her fingers through her hair with seeming nonchalance. Severus' stomach sank, partially because she was very obviously about to speak with him, and partially because the cover of the book in her hand featured a familiar improbably endowed couple sprawled across a piano- his third book, Fantasy Impromptu.  
  
Fortunately, at that moment Hermione managed to silence the wards, and the girl was lost in the crowd of people that bombarded Hermione with questions.  
  
She spread her hands for silence.  
  
"Honestly, don't you people pay any attention at meetings?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Well, one of you at least remembered to check the periphery for stunned intruders, right?"  
  
Somewhat nervous shuffling of feet. The girl in the skimpy nightdress waved a hand derisively in the air. Either that or she was drying her nails. "'Scuse me, Hermione, but isn't that what Tino is supposed to here for?"  
  
Hermione matched the girl's false courtesy, but with far less concealed venom. "No, Brittany. Tino is supposed to be here to research dragons. We're all responsible for camp security. That's why he told us all how to disarm the wards. I don't know about all of you, but I want to be able to sleep when I get back to bed." She lit her wand and stomped off toward the edge of the camp.  
  
A few of the group followed suit. Few others returned to their tents. Brittany did neither. Fuming, she turned to Severus.  
  
"The nerve of that know-it-all! Who died and left her in charge?"  
  
Severus, torn between agreeing with her assessment and disdain for the girl's choice of reading matter, shrugged noncommittally.  
  
"If she's not bitching at us about one thing, it's another. Can you blame us for not listening when she explained the ward thing? We call her 'Professor' when she's not around." The conspiratorial facade fell as she surveyed Severus with a practiced eye. "You came out of her tent, but you can't possibly be the Professor's new student. There's no way a man like you could be interested in her. So what brings you here?"  
  
"I can assure you that my business with Miss Granger is entirely professional, and, thankfully, of short duration."  
  
"So the Professor's interest in you is only academic?" She sounded doubtful. Severus saw no reason to be explicit.  
  
"That's what I was led to believe."  
  
Severus pinpointed the moment that the child-sized puzzle pieces of the girl's mind clicked together to form a picture eerily similar to the one that graced the cover of her book. Perhaps he wouldn't have to invent his next book after all. He certainly wouldn't mind a break from that intolerable woman and her intolerable project. He conducted a brief survey of Brittany's topography. Far from his worst, certainly.  
  
"That seems like such a waste of your... talents," she purred, taking a step closer to Severus. "I hope the Professor'll let you have some time for your own enjoyment."  
  
Her tactics were sub average, but her breasts were really quite extraordinary. No need to discourage her just yet.  
  
He allowed his voice to drop an octave. "Really, my dear, what makes you think that Miss Granger is the Professor in charge of the lessons?"  
  
It took her a moment to process this. "So you're the... Principal?" Suitably breathy, another step forward. The effects of the cold temperature on her were delightfully prominent.  
  
"I prefer 'Headmaster.'"  
  
She chuckled throatily and looked up through her eyelashes at him. "Then perhaps the Headmaster might have the time to deal with an especially naughty pupil?"  
  
Good lord, had she memorized every awful line from La Belle Dame of the Golden West? Appalling! He wanted to stop. He wanted to snap at her and send her huffing back to her tent, but instead, he hovered over the junction of her shoulder and neck. She smelled of gardenia and eucalyptus. The words came of their own volition.  
  
"Now, what could such a sweet little girl have done to merit the Headmaster's attention?"  
  
She managed to push her chest even higher as she clasped her hands behind her back. This was a familiar role for her, as vaguely disturbing as the idea was. He quickly shook off thoughts of anyone attempting to seduce Dumbledore in a similar fashion.  
  
"Why Headmaster, you know what I've done."  
  
His lips were centimetres from her ear. "Why don't you refresh my memory?"  
  
She didn't need much encouragement. Thankfully, her eager pupil act was far better than her naughty schoolgirl. Her mouth was sweet, her fingers were rubbing his scalp, and her foot was running up and down the back of his leg. He felt her back arch, and he deepened the kiss, pressing the full length of his body against hers. Pleasant give and take, excellent command of the embouchure. Perhaps she'd taken more from the book than just the bad lines. She pulled her mouth from his and whispered hoarsely in his ear.  
  
"I'm burning."  
  
Severus chuckled. "So am I, my dear. Which is your tent?"  
  
"No, like, I mean, 'I'm burning!'" She yanked herself from his embrace and began vigorously rubbing her mouth and tongue with her hand and then her forearm. Her voice was growing increasingly higher.  
  
"What the hell did you do to me?" She was flapping her hand in distress. "Oh my God, make it stop!"  
  
Severus swore. "It must be remnants of the native pepper I had earlier. You can counteract it with milk-"  
  
She wrinkled her nose. "Don't you brush your teeth? And I let you kiss me? And where the hell am I supposed to find milk? There aren't any cows in this stupid jungle!"  
  
Severus had had enough. "Do you or do you not have a wand? Or did I overestimate your abilities?"  
  
Her eyes narrowed, cheeks flushed. "You asshole! You and that bitch deserve one another." She flounced back to her tent, still fanning her dangling tongue with her hands. Pity about the breasts.  
  
Still, it was disconcerting. His seductions never went awry. Never. They were always the same, down to the last scented candle. So what had gone wrong?  
  
Granger, that's what.  
  
Granger and her stupid plans, her foul liquor, and her inadequate hair products. Thanks to her, he was now suffering from a condition he hadn't had since he was seventeen: frustrated lust.  
  
He yanked his cloak across his front to conceal the evidence of his failed rendezvous and surveyed the camp surreptitiously. Thankfully, nobody appeared to have witnessed the scene. But when he slunk uncomfortably back into Hermione's tent, he found, with minimal grappling in the darkness, that his bed had been banished and his belongings shoved into the corner.  
  
Oh.  
  
She must have witnessed the beginning of the scene, but not the end.  
  
Cheeks burning, he slid into the opposite side of her bed, shifting the mattress as little as possible. He lay with his back to her, and was mildly surprised when she snuggled her sleep-warm body closer to his. He was even more surprised to feel what was distinctly a caress on his posterior. He twitched violently away from the hand.  
  
Was she asleep? Did she think he was someone else?  
  
"Hermione?"  
  
No response.  
  
He pulled his body to the precipitous edge of the bed, away from her and her invasive hands.  
  
Sleep was fitful.  
  
*************************************  
  
End Note: Reviews are the life's blood of a fic writer. If you don't review, I will shrivel up. Of course, then I would be safe from vampire attacks...  
  
Next Chapter: Tino Returns, An Overheard Conversation, The First Tests, An Aphrodisiac Potion (trust me!) 


	8. Chapter 8

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
Author: Mundungus42  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com Rating: PG-13. Me use big words. Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance Disclaimer: Any images, descriptions, and commentary belong solely to the NFL. Or something like that.  
  
***********************  
  
Palanqa Research Camp 27 June, 11:45am  
  
He woke to the smell of strong black coffee, and he silently praised whatever merciful beings were on his side. Before taking the important step of getting up, he took quick inventory of himself. Finding nothing missing and nothing worse than an asleep arm, he hoisted himself into a sitting position. From the sound of clinking glass and iron, it sounded like Hermione had gotten an early start with her experiment plans. She was also not alone. He lay back down and closed his eyes, listening. It was a male voice, and speaking low and urgently. Unfortunately, he couldn't make out any individual words through the laboratory door.  
  
The ringing of a small bell in the kitchen drew them into the main room. Severus was still feigning sleep, but recognized Tino's footfalls from the previous night. He had to strain his ears to catch their whispers over the clattering crockery. From the sound of it sloshing into mugs, the coffee was even thicker than the previous night's.  
  
"I thought it'd never be ready!"  
  
"It only seems that way when you need it, Danger. One swig of Especial del Jefe just about did me in. How much did you and Mr. Danger drink, anyway?"  
  
He heard the remaining few dozen millilitres slosh against the side of the bottle and Tino's low whistle of appreciation.  
  
"No wonder he's still out cold!"  
  
"Maybe out, but I doubt he's cold."  
  
"Why, Danger, do I detect a hint of cattiness in your voice?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about. But I did spy him snogging Brittany after the wards went off last night."  
  
Severus wished he could have seen the look that accompanied the distinct sound of someone choking on hot coffee. "That sly old fox! Still, you can't fault his taste."  
  
She snorted in response. "Watch me. Honestly, I though he had a brain in his head."  
  
"Danger, darling, when will you realize that men don't always think with the brains in their heads?"  
  
"I don't buy that for a second. How could someone possibly get pleasure from a relationship in which he or she doesn't respect the other person involved?"  
  
"Is that a trick question?"  
  
Severus could almost hear her eyes rolling. "Let me rephrase: how could he possibly stand someone that vapid, even for a short amount of time? Is perky anatomy the only prerequisite?"  
  
"No, Danger, you know there's more to it than that. You're doing all right in the perky anatomy department. Mr. Danger's probably just killing time until you come out of mourning for having lost me."  
  
Severus was unable to contain his own snort against the pillow. Fortunately, Granger chose to snort derisively at the same time.  
  
"Still, if he had the whole camp to choose from, he could have done worse than Brittany. She's not all bad. She reads lots of Muggle literature and she must do something useful when she's out with the other Americans."  
  
"I guess." Her tone was doubtful.  
  
"And who's to say what happened last night? You did find him in bed next to you this morning, after all."  
  
"True."  
  
"And I could ask why it bothers you so much."  
  
She tutted. "Just because some people leave their brains at the door when it comes to romance doesn't mean we all do. My interest in Professor Snape is purely professional. But the last thing I need is to lose him to Brittany's two prominent charms when I need him to help me with this project. I refuse to share."  
  
"Wow, Danger. You were never so possessive of me."  
  
She laughed. "Well, he does do hard-to-get better than anyone I've ever seen."  
  
"Ah, but has he faced down a charging dragoness to bring you venom?"  
  
"You got it? You're the best!" Severus opened his eyes a crack just in time to see her throw her arms around his neck. She pulled away suddenly. "Wait, this wasn't the female nesting near the ranger station, was it?"  
  
"That's the one. She attacked the rangers last night."  
  
Hermione whistled. "What a mess! Did she get anyone?"  
  
"No. Luckily, I'd had my eye on her as soon as the gunshots started. All was well after a few stunners and memory charms."  
  
"Wait, why were there gunshots?"  
  
"Didn't I tell you? All the detainees managed to break out of their cells last night, so everyone was running around with flashlights and guns. Clever of the female to take advantage of the confusion."  
  
"Tino, you don't mean that Puquio is loose again!"  
  
"I didn't want to tell you. You've already got Especial de Jefe, and I had hoped to have at shot at the next bottle."  
  
"Well, now we know who breached the wards last night."  
  
"That's a bit of a leap, Danger."  
  
"Not really. Only a Muggle or a really dim Wizard would have breached the wards without disarming them. Even the CHUMPs have learned how to surprise us. Besides, some of the others have spotted him around the camp in the past- not that any of them ever lift a finger to stop him from poaching."  
  
"But why would Puquio come to the camp? Wouldn't he head back to Cusco as quickly as possible?"  
  
"Now that he's been caught and escaped, the authorities would be looking for him there. My guess is that he thought this camp would be a good place to lie low for a bit."  
  
"If Puquio was the one who breached the wards, we've got to find him and obliviate him." He paused. "What's wrong?"  
  
"He may be out for revenge, now that he knows that there are Magical people here. He shot me and almost killed both of us when he realized we could do Magic. He must be furious at Professor Snape and me for turning him in"  
  
"Hang on a minute there, Danger. He saw you do magic and you didn't obliviate him?"  
  
There was an awkward pause. "I forgot."  
  
Severus felt his eyebrows rise of their own accord. Tino must have had a similar reaction.  
  
"Well, I had a few other things on my mind, didn't I?" Her voice was defensive. "And it's not like we can do anything about it now. We just have to tell the others to keep an eye out for him. And for Circe's sake, remind them how to set and reset the wards. They listen to you."  
  
"Will do. I may need some more of your coffee to keep me awake while I do it, though."  
  
She clicked her tongue chidingly. "You haven't slept yet, have you?"  
  
"Aah, sleep is for the weak. I'll get some after the meeting at noon."  
  
"I'll cover dragon duty for you next week if you let me skive off. Professor Snape and I only have today and tonight to finish this potion."  
  
"Only for you, would I attempt teaching remedial charms to the Americans single-handedly, Danger. Only for you."  
  
They sipped their coffee in silence for a few minutes. Severus felt it an opportune time to assert himself. Stretching loudly, he sat up in bed.  
  
"'Morning, Professor."  
  
"Granger, Del Real."  
  
"Well, I'd better get going. I've got to prepare for the meeting." Tino threw a roguish wink at Hermione. "If you start the habit of covering duty for me every time you skip meetings, I'm going to stop telling you when they are."  
  
"Didn't you have somewhere you needed to be?"  
  
"At your side for eternity, Danger." He disapparated with a pop.  
  
Hermione shook her head and turned to Severus.  
  
"Well, we've got a lot to do today. Where would you like to start? I've already started a few tests for cross-reactivity. They turned out pretty much how I expected, except for one that exploded and gave Tino purple hair, but I think that was because he was fiddling with the heat level when he thought I wasn't looking."  
  
Severus slid out of bed, much relieved that his balance, coordination, and professorial vocal stylings had returned. "I thought I'd have the chance to review your tests before you started."  
  
"If you hadn't slept so late, perhaps you could have reviewed them. I hardly think it was necessary. I'm not completely incompetent, you know." Her eyes narrowed. "And don't you dare give me that look because I am in no mood for it. If you haven't got anything constructive to say, keep your mouth shut."  
  
Severus bit back the comment that her threat might have been more effective coming from someone who wasn't wearing garishly un-matching socks. He regarded her over the rim of his coffee mug. She looked distinctly tired and dishevelled; her curls stuck out at odd angles and there were purple shadows under her eyes. She also had the look of someone to be crossed at one's own peril. A person who, if sniped at, would snipe back. While it was decidedly odd for him to be the most affable person in a room, especially before his caffeine kicked in, he capitulated with a shrug.  
  
"Very well then, Miss Granger, where do you suggest we begin?"  
  
***********************  
  
Palanqa Research Camp 27 June, 7:30 pm  
  
Severus wiped away a trickle of sweat as he put the finishing touches on their first attempt at pain blocking potion. The planning was over; now it was a matter of trial, error, and no small amount of luck. An afternoon of bickering had led to their best guess for the potion base, which was simmering in a huge cauldron in the corner. Three drops of each distillation to a flask of corn base was all that was required for final testing. A tiny part of him was optimistic and excited, but the vast majority hoped that the effects of their first tests would be so catastrophic as to put a dent in Granger's rabid enthusiasm.  
  
The offending female herself had done considerably more than a few cross- reactivity tests while he had slept. To his great annoyance, she had gone ahead with a few analytical charms and tests using another batch of "historically accurate" corn solution. To his even greater annoyance, she had actually succeeded in ruling out two of the six orchid derivatives as the pain-blocking compound, one by virtue of its extreme toxicity when added to the base, and the other for its molecular similarity to the primary ingredient of Ire Infusions. To mask his surprise, he ordered her not discard the eliminated essences, in the likely event that she had been too quick to narrow the field.  
  
The chit had the audacity to smile at that. And she agreed! It got increasingly difficult to nettle her as their respective hangovers subsided.  
  
His hand was steady with the dropper- one, two, three shining drops of the glowing red liquid fell on to the surface of the flask, which went from milky translucence to a swirling orange. Interesting. It smelled of clay. She hovered next to his left shoulder.  
  
"That's it, then?"  
  
He removed the potion from the burner and poured a bit into a tube. "Infusion number one is complete. I trust you have a selection of antivenins on hand?"  
  
She produced a small rack of neatly labelled vials. "I may be an amateur at potions, but I'm not suicidal."  
  
"Would you like to do the honours?"  
  
Her jaw was set. "I would."  
  
"Start with about twenty millilitres. We can up the dosage if it has no effect. I will record observations. Give me your wand, please."  
  
She handed it to him, handle first and took the tube. "Bottoms up, Professor." She drained it and stood with her eyes closed. He poised his quill over his laboratory notebook and nearly jumped when her eyes snapped opened. She appeared mildly unfocused, but otherwise unchanged.  
  
She grinned hugely at him. "Hi, there!"  
  
"How do you feel, Miss Granger?"  
  
"How do I feel about what?"  
  
"Need I spell it out for you, idiot girl?"  
  
"Spelling. I can spell. I was first form spelling champion. I spelled 'existential.' What were we talking about?"  
  
"I was trying to divine how the potion has affected you physically, and these foolish games are hardly helpful."  
  
She wasn't looking at him. He cleared his throat, and she turned to him with a sunny smile.  
  
"Hi, there!"  
  
"I will ask you for the last time. How do you feel?"  
  
"How do I feel about what?"  
  
"Oh never mind," he snapped. "Give me your hand."  
  
She extended her hand, and he pricked one finger with his pocket quill knife. She jerked her hand away.  
  
"Ouch! What did you do that for?" She glared at him for a moment, but seemed to forget about him when she looked at her hand. "Hey wow, my finger's bleeding!"  
  
Severus scribbled his observations in his lab book. A few minutes later and a few dozen "Hi, there!"s later, Hermione seemed to regain some measure of her usual intelligence. Heh.  
  
Severus gave her a purging potion to remove any lingering effects of their experiment and filled her in on what had happened. She was amused by his description but disappointed that she had showed normal levels of pain sensitivity.  
  
One essence down, two to go, and it was his turn.  
  
Severus scooped up another flask full of the corn base and added three drops of the glowing blue essence. This time, the potion turned a vivid mauve and shimmered invitingly.  
  
She scooped up a tube full and gave it an experimental sniff.  
  
"It smells nicer than mine did, anyway. I'm ready to observe when you're ready to drink."  
  
He took the tube and drained it with a flourish.  
  
"How do you feel, Professor?"  
  
"Mentally alert, mildly anxious."  
  
"More than one would expect under the circumstances?"  
  
"No."  
  
"And physically?"  
  
"Unchanged."  
  
"Do you want to take another dose?"  
  
"No. There is a tingling sensation."  
  
"Painful?"  
  
"No, not painful. Just tingling."  
  
"Where?"  
  
"My lips." Interesting. He raised his fingers to his lips, which felt hot to the touch. "The sensation seems to be spreading and growing in intensity. There is also a sensation of heat."  
  
"Is it painful?"  
  
"Miss Granger, I assure you that when I am in pain, you will most certainly know."  
  
"Stick to your responses, Professor," she ordered. "Is the tingling sensation still spreading?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
She tutted. "You could be more specific?"  
  
He was finding it difficult to scowl with such pleasurable warmth spreading throughout his body. "My feet. Calves. Arms. Hands." So warm. He ran his fingers over the back of his hand. The veins his fingertips encountered seemed to vibrate. "Face. Throat. Chest." His breath and heart rates were increasing. "My stomach. My -oh, Merlin!" The tingles had taken on a less innocent intensity and had finally reached his groin. He doubled over and wrapped his arms around his hips in an attempt to shield his growing protuberance from Granger's observation.  
  
"Professor? Professor! Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?"  
  
"Not pain," he managed to squeeze through gritted teeth, humiliated.  
  
"Not pain? Then what- oh." She recovered almost immediately. "Is it physical stimulation, or is there a mental or compulsive aspect?"  
  
Her analytical question was like a mental cold shower. He could have kissed her. "Physical. No compulsion beyond what is normal for this state."  
  
"Is the tingling still present in the rest of your body?"  
  
"Yes, but different. Less. Like peppermint oil." Mundane. But the intensifying tingles between his legs were making it difficult to think, much less speak coherently. He had to make it to the washroom, and soon. But the girl was standing in his way.  
  
"Give me your hand."  
  
"What?"  
  
"I need to check your pain sensitivity."  
  
His legs were shaking. He wasn't going to last much longer. "I can do it myself."  
  
"But Professor, we need to know precisely-"  
  
"STAND ASIDE, STUPID GIRL!" He bellowed, tearing into the restroom just in time to yank off his trousers. While snatching a handful of tissues, he managed to bang his hip on the side of the sink, and was mildly dismayed to note that it hurt. When the inevitable occurred, the black patches that had been lurking in his peripheral vision began to expand. His last thought before losing consciousness were to the effect of that even if they never found a pain potion, this one would make him and Granger obscenely wealthy.  
  
******************************  
  
End Note: Am I a tease or what? Why don't you review and tell me so? :D  
  
Next Chapter: Snape's Issues with "The Physical Thing," More Tests, Scenes of Unspeakable Violence, Stargazing. 


	9. Chapter 9

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
Author: Mundungus42  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com Rating: A relatively tame PG-13 Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance Disclaimer: Catapultam habeo. Copyright non habeo. Hae hae hae!  
  
**************************  
  
He awoke on the bed with a cool rag against his forehead. His body felt completely drained, though not unpleasantly so. He sat up in bed, only to realize that he was naked as a doxy. Fortunately for her, Granger was in the lab, most likely preparing the next potion.  
  
She had thoughtfully cleaned and laid out his clothes on the chair. Still, he thought as grabbed his neatly-folded underwear from the arm, it hardly made up for the invasion of privacy.  
  
When he was fully dressed, he entered the lab, fully prepared to give her an icy lecture about appropriate boundaries. She was ladling out another beaker of the potion base. She turned to him when he cleared his throat.  
  
"Oh good, you're up. You were out for nearly half an hour, you know," she said, scribbling the time in the lab notebook. "Have a look at what I've written. Feel free to add more, since it seemed like you were still capable of observation until you lost consciousness."  
  
His arms were crossed and he was looking at her with his most imperious expression. It would have been courteous of her to at least look a bit repentant for stripping him. Instead, she looked concerned.  
  
"Are you feeling all right, Professor? Do you need something to drink?"  
  
She was going to pretend that nothing had happened. Fine. Two could play at that game.  
  
"No, I don't need a drink," he snapped. "Is there any particular reason you left an unconscious potions tester alone for half an hour, after said tester ingested an ingredient with unknown long-term effects?"  
  
The deliberate slur on her actions had its desired effect. Her eyes narrowed, and her fists settled on her hips. He prepared himself for a lecture on testing regulations and safety. But it never came.  
  
"I thought it was pretty obvious what made you pass out, Professor. I thought you'd be more comfortable in bed. Or would you have preferred being left on the bathroom floor with your dick hanging out of your trousers?"  
  
He goggled at her, jaw working up and down, for a moment before he found his voice. "Vulgar, Granger. You go too far."  
  
"Childish, Professor. There's no need to get bent out of shape because you're suffering from the typical British fear of the physical thing. Contrary to what you may believe, we are both adults here." She tossed the notebook and quill at him, though without any real malice. "Now, are you ready to do more testing, or do you want to have some supper first?"  
  
He wasn't about to dig himself deeper into the 'physical thing' hole, but he wasn't about to let her get off so easily. "As you should be aware, food could react negatively with our tests.  
  
"You're right. We'll keep at it. Which essence do you think I should try next? You've got a 50% chance of choosing correctly."  
  
"That is assuming a great deal." Severus wondered if she was ignoring his ire just to spite him. Still, he was anxious to continue testing, especially if it meant that the girl might get a taste of her own medicine. He gazed at the neat rows of tubes in pearly white and dull green. The white released iridescent bubbles periodically. There was really no choice involved. "The green."  
  
"Substance over flash? That's refreshing." She was muttering.  
  
He gave her an odd look. Did she know he had been eavesdropping on her conversation with Tino that morning?  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"Nothing." She hastily added three drops of the green compound to the corn base, which bubbled and turned a buttery yellow. She scooped up a dose in a clean vial and held it aloft. "Cheers, Professor!"  
  
She drank.  
  
"How do you feel, Miss Granger?"  
  
"Fine."  
  
He made an impatient noise. "A little more specificity would be helpful."  
  
"I feel unchanged- exactly as I did before taking the potion."  
  
"Were you feeling any pain before taking the potion?"  
  
"None."  
  
He wrote this down. "Give me your hand."  
  
She held out her hand, which he pricked with his quill knife. She gasped.  
  
He began to write, but she grabbed his wrist. Her eyes were wide.  
  
"That didn't hurt."  
  
He ignored the acrobatics his stomach decided to perform at this admission. "But your reaction was that of pain."  
  
"That was my reaction to seeing it. It really didn't hurt at all. Do it without me watching if you don't believe me."  
  
"Very well. Look away, Miss Granger." He took her hand and pressed the dull edge of his knife into the fleshy heel, not terribly hard. "What do you feel?"  
  
"Just a bit of pressure."  
  
He dragged the clean nib of a spare quill down her life line. "And now?"  
  
"Pressure. It tickles a bit."  
  
Using the razor-sharp tip of his knife, he made a small cut across the tip of her ring finger. "And now?"  
  
"Still just pressure, a bit of moisture. Is it ink from your quill?" His heart was beating fast. Could he allow himself to believe that they'd done it?  
  
He cleared his throat. "You'd better look, Miss Granger."  
  
She stared at her bleeding finger, eyes wide. Her voice was soft. "We did it."  
  
"We don't know that yet. There are many other types of pain."  
  
"Of course! Hex me, Professor!"  
  
"As much as the prospect delights me, Miss Granger, don't you think we should work our way up to that?"  
  
"Nonsense. Just don't use the Cruciatus curse until we've got a better idea of how long a dose of this stuff lasts."  
  
What did she know of the Cruciatus curse? All talk, as usual. Still, there was no need to have her writing on the floor in agony just yet. He finally settled on a pricking hex, used most often to deter thumb-sucking children. "Fodio."  
  
She grinned. "I didn't feel anything. Try something a little nastier."  
  
"Noceo."  
  
"That's supposed to be nasty?"  
  
Impertinent. He'd wipe that smirk off her face. "Pello!"  
  
Her face jerked sharply to the side as if she had been struck. He had put enough force into the spell that all but the steadiest would have ended up on the floor. She remained standing, but barely. She raised her eyes triumphantly.  
  
"I felt that one, but just the force of the blow. No pain."  
  
He wrote down her observations. "Interesting. Miss Granger, I'd like to get in as many tests as this dose will allow. If you will permit me to enchant one of your quills?"  
  
"Of course. Why didn't you do so in the first place?"  
  
"Because, ridiculous child, I wanted to make sure that the potion was still in effect before we make a record of using illegal curses." A wave of his wand had the quill standing at the ready. "Now, if you can limit your responses to a sentence or two, we can begin in earnest."  
  
Before she had a chance to respond, he hit her with a burning hex, popular for interrogation since it caused no physical damage but felt akin to being immersed in boiling oil. Her response was immediate and professional.  
  
"Heat, not unpleasant. No pain."  
  
"Gravatio."  
  
"Nausea, slight dizziness, no pain."  
  
"Pugno!" Her body flew across the room and slammed into the wall. One of the suspended quipu fell on top of her.  
  
"Really, Professor, if you could refrain from destroying my tent?"  
  
He was beginning to enjoy himself. "Stick to your responses!"  
  
She gave him a dirty look. "Force of collision, no pain. And I'll have you know that it took me a week to get that quipu in order-"  
  
"Premo!" Her speech cut off abruptly as his spell squeezed her throat. He released it a moment later.  
  
"Pressure," she rasped, "I was unable to draw breath, but there was no pain."  
  
"So the protection is only perceived. I wonder... Decipio."  
  
"Ooh, good idea. No effect."  
  
"Really? No desire to attack me out of mental anguish?"  
  
"None." She grinned cheekily. "Are you out of spells?"  
  
"Miss Granger, that is a stupid question, even for you. We've hardly scratched the surface. Quasso!"  
  
She winced as the bone in her upper arm snapped.  
  
"Pain?"  
  
"No pain, but I can't move my fingers."  
  
"That's to be expected. Haven't you ever had a broken bone before, Granger?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Really? Now would be an excellent time to catch up. Frendo!"  
  
Granger's body stiffened as an awful series of crunching sounds filled the air- the sound of every bone in her arm and hand shattering. Her face had gone an unnatural shade of ash. Had he overdone it?  
  
"Pain?"  
  
"No." Her voice was shaking. "Merlin, Professor, what spell was that? My arm- my hand..."  
  
The useless limb dangled at her side. She looked close to tears.  
  
"Perhaps it would be wise to stop and mend you before proceeding further. It would be rather unpleasant if the potion were to wear off now." He flicked his wand at the quill on the sideboard. "Finite incantem." The quill stopped scribbling and fell on top of the parchment, and Hermione turned a shade less pale. He'd forgotten about the other hexes that were still in effect. He silently cursed himself. Sloppy.  
  
"Come here, Miss Granger, and lay your arm on the bench."  
  
He wanted to say something comforting, but her shaking was making it very difficult to set the bones.  
  
"Are you in pain?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Then remain still! If you continue wiggling this way, you may never regain use of the hand."  
  
She made a heroic effort to calm herself, and he nodded approvingly. He ran his wand slowly down the length of it, simultaneously setting and healing the hundreds of tiny fractures, exactly the same way Poppy Pomfrey had done for him over the years.  
  
When he had finished, she gave her hand an experimental flex. She was still entirely too pale. He glanced around the lab to see if she had the ingredients for a calming compound.  
  
"Will I be able to play the piano after this?" she asked in a small voice.  
  
Perhaps he had overdone it. But he knew his bone mending was just as precise as Poppy's, and she was a trained mediwitch. Still, a twinge of guilt tempered his response. "Of course you will."  
  
"That's nice," she sighed, impish grin briefly lighting her wan features. "I didn't know how before."  
  
See if he ever expressed concern over her again! He pulled himself up to his full, not-unimpressive height and looked down his nose at her. "As amusing as I'm sure your attempt at humour is, it is hardly conducive to good experimental procedures. Now, are you still under the influence of the potion?"  
  
She banged her thigh against the sharp edge of the table. "Yes, I believe so."  
  
"Then keep an eye on the hourglass and prick yourself with the pen knife until it wears off. You have your blasted anti-pain potion. I trust I need not do the rest for you."  
  
"But-"  
  
He turned on his heel and stalked out of the laboratory. Thankfully, she did not follow after.  
  
He washed his hands and set to making himself some supper. Even the girl's larder was impertinent- filled with things he didn't recognize. Working largely by smell, he managed to fix himself an edible meal from rice and a few gourd-like vegetables that ended up tasting rather like butternut squash.  
  
He heard her moving things around in the laboratory a few times, but she did not emerge, for which he was grateful. To ensure his solitude, he took his plate and wandered outside.  
  
He walked over to the edge of the trees where there was a fine prospect of the camp and sat down. It was nearly completely dark, but four or five people had made a fire in the pit and were chatting animatedly around it. He was unsurprised to see Tino with his arm around Brittany. Fortunately, Hermione's tent was close enough to the forest that they had not noticed him. The great mountains rose up on all sides, so that only the sky directly overhead was visible. It was another startlingly clear night.  
  
The stars that represented the Great Leopard seemed poised to spring into the Great River of stars. And the Monkey near his tail looked ready to grab the Serpent and fling him to the other side of the heavens. At last, his eye fell upon two tiny stars, nearly indivisible to the naked eye, which represented the two lovers from his poem, Chuqui-llantu and Acoya-Napa.  
  
He sighed. He and Hermione had, in the span of two days, dismantled millions of years of evolution's most hard-wired reflex; that reflex that caused one to recoil from fire and curse when one shut one's hand in a drawer. He was not unaware of its potential lack of insignificance, and he sincerely hoped she was, too.  
  
But knowing her, within a few weeks, she would have maximized the potion's effectiveness. Then she'd figure out a brilliant way to store it to prevent its losing potency, knowing her luck, on the very first try. She was probably still planning to market the potion to the public, and there wasn't a thing he could do to stop her.  
  
He stabbed a bit of squash with his fork.  
  
It really was a shame the girl was so horrible. Well, perhaps not horrible, but still, she had no business doing the kind of work she was doing. She was certainly nothing special in the lab, but her newly developed subtlety of analytical thought was a promising sign. Still, she was brazen, forward, pushy, intrusive, and utterly impossible to work with. And with this discovery under her belt, what on earth would she try to tackle next? He shuddered to think.  
  
The only other person able to get under his skin so effectively had been dead for over twenty years, and his son was almost as bad.  
  
But Granger seemed to occupy a space of her own under his skin.  
  
****************************************  
  
End Note: The Calm Before The Final Storm(s)  
  
Next Chapter: Propositions, the Coca Harvest Undercover Magical Police, Trouserless Severus, Poison. 


	10. Chapter 10

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
Author: Mundungus42  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com Rating: A relatively tame PG-13 Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance Disclaimer: I got plenty o' nuttin; nuttin's plenty for me.  
  
*****************************  
  
When he returned to the tent, he found her scribbling in a notebook at the kitchen table. A mug of tea sat by her elbow, untouched.  
  
"Have you eaten?"  
  
She looked mildly surprised, though he couldn't say if it was from his harsh tone or the question. "No, I haven't."  
  
"And how many more tests were you planning to run this evening?"  
  
"About ten, unless I'm able to make the potion last longer then fifteen minutes. Or if I run out of hair."  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"I got tired of pricking myself with the penknife, so I've been plucking hairs off my arm instead."  
  
"Miss Granger, you will depilate yourself no further tonight. You will finish your tea, eat some supper, and go to sleep." He scooped the last of his squash concoction from the pan onto a clean plate and placed it in front of her.  
  
She looked at him suspiciously. "Why this sudden concern for my welfare?"  
  
"You forget that I require your assistance returning to Cusco tomorrow morning."  
  
"So this isn't a purely altruistic gesture on your part? I'm shocked."  
  
Was she angry? Not if the slight smile on her face was any indication. Unsure of how to respond, he nodded curtly and returned to the laboratory.  
  
When he had closed the door, he sank wearily down at the bench. He was surprised to find that she had already cleaned the glassware, stored the remains of the corn base, and put his notes and books into a neat pile.  
  
Her own notes were strewn haphazardly on the other side of the lab. He had no doubt that her lab would be back to its normal state of chaos within a day of his departure. The thought was slightly comforting.  
  
He visited the washroom briefly to change into his nightshirt and prepare for bed. His reflection was little changed from the previous evening, though he was quite taken with the difference Hermione's leave-in treatment had made in his hair. He took a small sample of the conditioning treatment and hid it in his bag.  
  
She was reading in the chair when he emerged.  
  
"Thank you for supper, Professor. I hadn't thought of adding brown sugar. It was delicious."  
  
That was unexpected. "You're welcome."  
  
There was a slightly awkward pause.  
  
"I suppose we'd both better get some rest."  
  
"Yes." 'Yes!?' What was wrong with him? Wait a moment, she hadn't conjured him a bed. Surely she didn't expect to-  
  
Apparently, she did. Off went her trousers, up went the duvet, and soon there was nothing visible apart from a curly brown head.  
  
He did the only thing he could think of - he turned off the light and slid into bed next to her. His back was to her, and the mattress jostled as she turned over to face him. She had moved closer, and he was aware that the sag in the old mattress was tipping him towards the centre and precariously close to her.  
  
"Severus?"  
  
"Mm?"  
  
"Can I ask you a personal question?"  
  
He edged further away from her. "You may, but I very much doubt you will get an answer."  
  
"During either war, or the in-between, did you ever do something like this; a trip just for your own pleasure?"  
  
The question was not one he'd expected to hear. Perhaps that's why he answered it.  
  
"To do so would have been imprudent. Too many things were at stake for me to act on such selfish motives."  
  
"Oh."  
  
"Why do you ask?"  
  
"Just curious. I suppose you wouldn't entertain answering another personal question?"  
  
"Absolutely not."  
  
"Where did you learn to kiss like you kissed Brittany last night?"  
  
He shot upright in bed. "What?!" His shock quickly turned to outrage. "How dare you!"  
  
She rolled over to her side of the bed and lay on her back. "Oh dear. This isn't going well at all."  
  
His outrage was giving way to confusion. "What isn't going well? This line of deliberately rude and intrusive questioning?" While she spluttered indignantly, a new and ugly thought occurred to him.  
  
"No, you impossible man, I'm trying to-"  
  
"Dig up failed romantic exploits to amuse your friends. Really, Granger, and I thought you had some maturity."  
  
"That's not it at all! If you would just listen-"  
  
"I have no interest in anything you have to say. Good night." He was about to flop back down again when the lights blazed on.  
  
He blinked at the girl in bed next to him, who was gripping her wand tightly. Her cheeks were red, but her voice was steady.  
  
"Professor, please listen to me. I'm trying to find a way to ask-" she was searching frantically for the correct phrase. He stared at her in mute amazement. She continued, cheeks flushing darker.  
  
"I would like to spend more time with you."  
  
"I am sure that there are a number of Potions Masters in Peru. I even know of one at Universidad-"  
  
"Severus, you're not listening to me. I'm not interested in any Peruvian Potions Masters. I am interested in you."  
  
"I think you're giving me too much credit, Miss Granger. Now that you've seen the proper way to distil the orchid essences, you really won't need to- " He cut off abruptly as she made an irritated noise, grabbed the sides of his face and kissed him.  
  
Fireworks went off under his eyelids. Her lips were warm, her mouth hot, and the hands whose thumbs were caressing his cheeks held his head firmly in place while Granger systematically snogged away nagging questions. His mind was spinning. Where had she learned to kiss like that? What was her game? What could she possibly have to gain by kissing him?  
  
When she ended the kiss, she smiled at him fondly. "Impossible man, don't you know when you're being flirted with?"  
  
He narrowed his eyes. "Miss Granger, is there something you want?"  
  
"I just told you. I would like to know you better. Nothing terribly complicated about that, is there?"  
  
"Why me?"  
  
"You're interesting."  
  
He pulled his hand away from hers. "Miss Granger, if you hope to get anything from me, I expect you to tell me the truth."  
  
"That is the truth."  
  
"People do not suddenly kiss each other simply because they find one another interesting."  
  
"With all due respect, sir, I would wager that a majority of kisses occur for just that reason."  
  
He felt his temper rising. "And in your paradigm of normalcy, what else occurs when people find one another interesting?"  
  
She had the nerve to smile at his sarcasm. "Planned social interaction for one or more activities that both parties enjoy, commonly referred to as a 'date.' If, after said 'date,' both parties continue to find one another interesting, further interactions are planned."  
  
"It sounds like such fun," the word fairly dripped with scorn, "but, unsurprisingly, you fail to grasp the unpleasentries involved."  
  
"Like what?"  
  
"Like finding appropriate venues for interaction, keeping up societal appearances, constructing multiple social representations of the self, and above all, sizing up your and your prospective partner's motivations for doing the same. And all this is even before considers any long-term arrangements. It is an endlessly tiresome enterprise, and one that I have no patience for."  
  
"Your version of dating does sound very tiring. Perhaps you should give mine a try."  
  
"I am being serious, Miss Granger. And there is always the question of sex."  
  
"I usually don't on the first date."  
  
"I meant, little fool, how does the concept of sex fit into your idea? You make it sound as if dating is all sunshine and daisies. Sex and power are constant presences in all interpersonal relationships. To play down their existence is to make oneself vulnerable to their allurements. If you do not think about them, you have no defences against them."  
  
"This conversation could have come from 'Beginner's Guide to Misanthropy,' co-written by Machiavelli and Freud. There's no need to take things so seriously."  
  
Froyd? "Fascinating as I find this conversation, I would really like to sleep now." He lay back down and turned away from her.  
  
"You never answered my question, Severus."  
  
He sighed, back to her. "I was unaware you'd asked one that required a response."  
  
"And you accuse me of lacking subtlety? Fine. You win. Severus Snape, would you do me the honour of accompanying me on a lunch date tomorrow in Cusco before you leave the country?"  
  
No way to sneak out of this one. "I think not, Miss Granger."  
  
"Why?"  
  
In an instant, a life with Hermione flashed before his eyes; his ancestral home in the Cotswolds with the windows flung wide open to let in light and breeze. A flock of children with mops of curly black hair. Friends and dinner parties far away from the Hogwarts dungeons. Away from the darkness and solitude that gave him comfort. It was not a life that he desired, and not one that he could accept.  
  
"I don't feel that I can offer what you would have of me."  
  
"I don't see how you can possibly presume to know what I would have of you. You barely know me. I asked you for a date, not for your hand in marriage, for heaven's sake."  
  
"Nevertheless, my answer remains the same. If you respect me, then you will respect my wishes and my privacy. Good night, Miss Granger."  
  
"I begin to understand," she remarked with steel in her voice, "why you prefer your empty-headed beauties to someone with similar interests who respects your brain and can deal with your tempers. Savour your emotional detachment, Professor. It comes at a price that I, for one, would never be willing to pay."  
  
She extinguished the lights and rolled over to her side.  
  
He said nothing. For the second night in a row, sleep was fitful.  
  
********************************  
  
Palanqa Research Camp 28 June, 6:30 am  
  
For the second morning in a row, he was rudely awoken. He had to admit, it was far preferable to be woken by gentle shaking than by blaring wards, but it was still far from ideal.  
  
"Professor. Professor! Wake up! The CHUMPs are coming!"  
  
He responded with an unintelligible snarl. His eyes were assaulted by brightness- the flaps of Hermione's tent were wide open, and sunlight was pouring in.  
  
"The Coca Harvest Undercover Magical Police, remember? We haven't much time. Get dressed. They'll be here any minute!" She was pacing anxiously around the tent, gathering various items. "I've got your book of poetry and all of our research. Is there anything else you want me to hide in the fire pit?"  
  
The gravity of the situation jarred him into wakefulness. He pulled on his robe. "No, the rest of it is unimportant."  
  
She thrust her load of apparent detritus into his arms. "Take this lot out. I'll do a final scan for anything with sentimental value."  
  
He could find no reason to argue. The morning was lovely; either that, or he was adjusting to the elevation and climate. The other researchers were arranging their precious armloads in a large cement-lined hole that now gaped beneath the pile of cinders from last night's fire.  
  
He noticed a small selection of his own works and assumed that Brittany had learned from the last raid. Other objects included a Muggle-style stereo, piles and piles of ancient-looking books, a shadowbox filled with mounted butterflies, a box of Belgian chocolates, a Chinese lute, and some small Incan statues, presumably someone else's research project. He was amused to see a box filled with Martin Miggs and Patricia Ipswitch comic books.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Brittany, who was carrying another stack of paperback novels with one arm, and a large flask filled with something that glowed under the other. He chose this moment to make a beeline for Hermione's tent. Hermione, meanwhile had gathered another armload of potions research, her broom, and the nearly empty bottle of rum.  
  
He motioned for her to stop.  
  
"Why are so many people putting their research into the fire pit? I was under the impression that you were free to study whatever you wanted here."  
  
"We are, but the CHUMPs have a tendency to disrupt experiments and make off with research if it strikes their fancy. I'm lucky. The CHUMPs think my quipu are just eccentric wall hangings."  
  
"What a charming group of constabulary. I look forward to never having to deal with them after today."  
  
"Lucky you," she grumbled, loping off to the fire pit.  
  
Severus quickly dressed himself in his most intimidating clothes, as Hermione appeared to have done. He doubted his neatly pressed Savile Row trousers would make quite the impression on the CHUMPs as her wide selection of knives and machete would.  
  
Hermione had just released her owl when he emerged from the washroom.  
  
"I don't suppose that was an order for breakfast."  
  
"I wish. I was letting the Toqokachi Research Camp know that the CHUMPs were coming. Since they inspect the camps in the same order every time, we've gotten pretty good at giving each other advance warning. We send the first couple of camps on the list regular donations of contraband so that they'll continue to give the rest of us advance notice."  
  
"Positively devious. Your idea?"  
  
"Naturally."  
  
No sooner had her owl disappeared into the trees, the arrival of the CHUMPs was heralded by a loud announcement for all researchers to gather in the centre of the camp. Severus followed Hermione to the small crowd milling about the fire pit, which was now sealed and smouldering.  
  
There were four of them, three wizards and a witch, dressed in wrinkled grey uniforms with yellow piping. All looked unkempt but superbly smug. A wizard with a drooping black moustache spoke first.  
  
"You know why we are here. The same procedure as usual, please. You will line up while your tents are inspected."  
  
Severus reluctantly joined the line. Generalissimo Moustache walked down the line, scratching behind his ear with his wand and asking questions that no-one in their right minds could answer incorrectly, such as "Have you ever purchased drugs from a smuggler," and "Have you ever grown coca?" The answers were automatic and generally sounded bored, but they seemed to satisfy him.  
  
When the man reached Severus, the man inspected him from head to toe.  
  
"Who are you?"  
  
"I am Severus Snape, Potions Master."  
  
"Where are you from?"  
  
"Great Britain."  
  
"Why are you here?"  
  
"I have been consulting on a project with Miss Granger."  
  
"How long will you be staying?"  
  
"I leave this afternoon."  
  
"Have you witnessed any drug smuggling in the area?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Have you seen the cultivation of plants used to make illegal drugs?"  
  
"No." Severus was getting impatient.  
  
"Those trousers wool?"  
  
What? He noticed Hermione frantically shaking her head out of the CHUMP's range of vision. He wasn't quite sure what it meant. He fixed the man in a venomous glare.  
  
"I beg your pardon!"  
  
The man was undaunted. "Your trousers. Are they wool?"  
  
"Wool and cashmere."  
  
"Wool and cashmere cannot be imported into this country without a license. You will give me your trousers, please."  
  
Severus felt his carotid artery being to pound. He heard a few soft snickers from further down the line. His modulated his voice into "dangerously soft."  
  
"These trousers are my personal possessions, purchased in England, and they will be returning to England with me. They are neither imports nor exports. Furthermore, I am not here on your courtesy, and you have no jurisdict- ow!"  
  
Hermione had stomped on his foot.  
  
The Moustache appeared not to have heard his protest. "I will collect your trousers when I have inspected the others." He turned away from Severus and continued down the line.  
  
Severus cleared his throat. The man turned. "You have a question, señor?"  
  
Hermione stomped on his foot again. Severus swallowed his tirade and managed to choke out, "No."  
  
"Good." He called over his shoulder, "Inez!"  
  
The lone female CHUMP stuck her head out of a tent. She was now wearing a New York Yankees baseball cap. One of the Americans cursed under his breath.  
  
The inspecting CHUMP said something rapidly to Inez in Spanish. She nodded and jogged briskly to Hermione's tent. The Moustache nodded to himself and proceeded down the line.  
  
"Why did you stop me?" Severus hissed, turning his ire on Hermione.  
  
"You don't want the CHUMPs angry with you. They'll detain you for days if you look at them funny" she whispered back. "We thought we'd never see Tino again after he tried to stop them from taking his guitar. They almost revoked his research permit. You'd better take off your trousers."  
  
"What he tell that woman to do?"  
  
Hermione took a deep breath. "He told her to search my tent for more trousers like the ones you had on. He says that you look about his size. He's nearly done with the others. Professor, I'm really sorry, but if you don't take off your trousers, there may be trouble. Please!"  
  
Severus could barely unfasten them; his hands were shaking and he was so furious he could hardly see. Through heroic effort, he managed to have them removed and folded neatly over his arm by the time the Moustache returned to him. He thanked his lucky stars, what few of them still shone, that he had opted for boxer shorts that morning.  
  
"Excellent," the Moustache said, taking the trousers and holding them against himself to check their length. "I hope you will read the import and export guidelines more carefully on your next visit to Peru. Have a nice day."  
  
As if waiting for this cue, the other CHUMPs exited from their respective tents; arms filled with knickknacks, clothes, and books. Severus was most dismayed to see that Inez appeared to have taken every last pair of trousers he had packed, even his jeans. They gathered together, laughing and admiring one another's finds. They disapparated in rapid succession.  
  
Immediately, the line dissolved into furious conversation, but Hermione sprinted into her tent. By the time Severus had crossed the camp with as much dignity as a man with no trousers can, she was bent over a bowl that looked very much like a penseive.  
  
"Saving my humiliation for future generations?" he inquired nastily as he yanked the duvet from the bed and wrapped it around his bare legs.  
  
She rolled her eyes. "I thought we'd been through this already, Severus. And if you must know, I put tracking charms on a few choice items around the camp. I'm checking to see if any of the CHUMPs took the bait this time."  
  
She watched the swirling surface silently for a few moments, but then emitted a disgusted noise.  
  
"They must test for spells before they loot. That's the only reason they would leave the things I've charmed or the things Tino has booby-trapped and poisoned."  
  
"Poisoned?"  
  
"Nothing deadly. He's just really sensitive about his guitar." She gave him a small smile. "I suppose we'd better find something for you to wear. If worst comes to worst, we can always transfigure something, even though the spell will probably wear off after a few hours. I do have that pair that you wore on the orchid hunt-"  
  
"I would rather wear nothing."  
  
"I'll see if Tino has anything. He's probably the closest to your height."  
  
He offered no thanks as she left the tent. She didn't seem to expect any.  
  
*********************************  
  
End Note: Tino plays a Taylor 414ce, if anyone is interested. Review!  
  
Next Chapter: Severus Attempts to Leave, Marzipan Biscuits, Secret Passageways... 


	11. Chapter 11

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
  
Author: Mundungus42  
  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: A relatively tame PG-13  
  
Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance  
  
Disclaimer: Though I am blonde, like to write, and do a passable accent, I will likely go my entire life without being mistaken for J.K.R. Aah well.  
  
********************************  
  
6 km Northeast of Cusco  
  
28 June, 9:30 am  
  
Two disillusionment charms later, Severus found himself, luggage in pocket, astride Granger's clunky broom, wearing a pair of linen trousers expertly transfigured from a pair of Tino's jeans. Given Granger's talents, they should retain their current shape until he was safely back in his dungeons. They were flying toward Cusco at a conservative speed. In other words, Severus was half tempted to seize control of the broom and show Granger that going over half the broom's top speed would not cause the world to end.  
  
He managed to control himself- just barely- because the view from the air was spectacular; alternatively starkly striking outcroppings amid lush green forests. He occasionally caught flashes of Incan ruins, which resembled nothing more than stone skeletons half-buried in the forest.  
  
Far sooner than he would have liked, the forests and mountains gave way to the valley over which Cusco sprawled. As they descended into the greying stuccoed outskirts, Severus felt the part of him that openly admired Peru's rugged beauty close. It was time for business.  
  
He followed Hermione into an alley where she shrunk her broom and he surreptitiously removed the wrinkles from his clothes and untangled his windblown hair. Pomade was far superior in its wind-resisting ability. Once the disillusionment charms had been removed, they walked out into the narrow street, where refuse from the Festival of the Sun was still visible in the gutters.  
  
They did not speak as they wove through the busy streets, but it was a comfortable silence. Hermione seemed to know the way, and it wasn't more than twenty minutes later that they found themselves across from the sunbaked facade of the San Agustin Hotel. A welcoming Union Jack flag waved in the window: the British Consulate.  
  
Fortunately, the British Magical Consulate was only one plaza away from the Muggle one, in the stone bowels of Santo Domingo, another grand church that had previously been an Incan the temple of the sun. Hermione spoke with the dour-looking door warden in Spanish, and he led them into a small waiting room. Severus felt a rush of fondness upon viewing a foreign edition of The Daily Prophet alongside Le Monde Magique and Deutsche Zauberzeitung in the paper rack. He had nearly begun flipping through the Prophet when the door to an adjoining office opened and a white-haired witch stepped through the door.  
  
She was sympathetic but brisk; ushering Severus to a seat and handing him a pile of paperwork to fill out for a portkey back to England. She left a large, official-looking owl with him so that he might submit his paperwork directly to the Peruvian Ministry. She assured him that he would be able to leave that day, but it might be a few hours before approval came through.  
  
When the witch had bustled back into her office, Severus turned to Hermione.  
  
"I suppose there is no reason for you to stay while I fill this out," he said with his usual tact.  
  
"Perhaps not. But would it bother you if I stayed?"  
  
"You're not still on about dating, are you?"  
  
She held up her hand defensively. "For Heaven's sake, Professor. I understood you perfectly last night. But if you have a few hours, I can show you the market where I pick up most of my potions ingredients and cooking spices."  
  
"That will be unnecessary. I wish to remain near the Consulate in order to expedite my exodus from this wretched country."  
  
She looked slightly crestfallen.  
  
"Still, I am sorry to miss the market. It has been quite some time since I encountered so many ingredients that I had never come across in my reading."  
  
The amendment made her smile. Good. It suited her.  
  
"I will keep you posted on any further progress I make with the potion, of course."  
  
"I would expect nothing less, Miss Granger."  
  
"Well, thank you for helping me."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
She turned to leave, but stopped, as if undecided on which way to go. She eventually faced him, cheeks aflame.  
  
"Professor, I know what you said about not wanting to date me, but, given your taste for brief assignations, I hoped you might allow me to kiss you goodbye. No strings attached."  
  
"Miss Granger, I find that of all the phrases in the English language, the two that are most likely to bring trouble are 'oops' and 'no strings attached.'"  
  
Before he had a chance to formulate his next sentence, she had pounced on him. Again, he marvelled at her ability to channel that formidable intellectual focus into something as simple as a kiss. Quite an impressive feat, really. Still, she had initiated the kiss without permission, and when she released his lower lip and he had regained his thought processes, he scowled at her.  
  
She could have passed for penitent had there not been quite so large a twinkle in her eye. "You didn't say no, sir."  
  
He managed to hide his smile under a sneer. "Wasn't there somewhere else you needed to be, Granger, preferably in another hemisphere?"  
  
"At your side for eternity, my dear Professor," she replied. He shooed her out the door, and, and she did leave, but not before shooting him a million- candlepower grin on her way.  
  
Severus sank into his chair with a shake of his head and began filling out the form at the top of the pile. He turned when the door behind him opened suddenly. Though he half-expected it to be Hermione, it was the Consul.  
  
"Did you need any help with the forms, dear?"  
  
"No, I've only just started."  
  
"Has your daughter gone, then?"  
  
He managed to force out a reply before the pause became awkward. "Yes, she's gone."  
  
"Such a lovely girl. You must be very proud."  
  
"Oh, yes. Very proud," he responded absently.  
  
"Well, let us know if you need anything."  
  
"I will, thank you."  
  
It was definitely for the better that he was leaving as soon as possible. Better for all parties involved, even if the girl was too silly to see it.  
  
**********************************  
  
Magical British Consulate, Cusco  
  
28 June, 11:58 am  
  
By the time Severus had finished filling out the towering stack of forms and sent them off by owl, the Consul and most of her staff had left for lunch. The guard grumpily informed him that all government offices, including the one in charge of processing his paperwork, would be on lunch until about 2pm.  
  
Silly him for getting his hopes for a speedy departure up, he thought darkly. He mentally kicked himself for not accepting Hermione's offer for a tour of the magical markets. He might have learned something. Well, he made his bed, he supposed that he should lie in it. Grabbing the book of Incan poetry from his satchel, he flung himself in a chair and began to read.  
  
He was surprised to find that Hermione had marked up the book considerably, and more than just the poem they had been working from. When had she done this? Some of the annotations were cross-references to other literary sources and historical events. But what deeply impressed him were her line- for-line possible back translations of the potion source poem that filled several pages of parchment.  
  
More than anything, Severus wished for a copy of Hermione's Quechua-to- English potions ingredient book and a wider Spanish vocabulary.  
  
He sat immersed in her notes, allowing each etymological possibility and subsequent line notes to swim around his consciousness before going on to the next version. The girl had an incredible knack for multilingual wordplay, which was necessary for making the requisite leaps from cat tooth to corn and from papa to potato.  
  
He read through the four radically different translations, a couple of times each. There were, of course, a few lines of the ingredient list that had stumped her, but that was hardly her fault, and ultimately unnecessary. However, the penultimate couplet seemed to have perplexed her the most. It was one to which he hadn't paid much attention, mostly because it had nothing to do with the potion itself.  
  
She had translated what was originally:  
  
"Eternally shall all recall his fight Where omens dwell with stars of darkest night."  
  
to  
  
"And evermore will all who hear recall Acoya-Napa's rise and final fall,"  
  
In spite of the thematic clarification, and, in Severus' opinion, superior word choice, she seemed to have been unhappy with her first effort, and had underlined the word 'stars' emphatically with her pencil. Apparently, she wished to retain the reference to the constellation of Acoya-Napa and his lover. The next translation contained the following substitution:  
  
"And those who gaze upon the starry light Shall understand the greatest wrongs from right."  
  
Severus found this a bit trite, but it was no better than the next.  
  
"This tale, reflected in the stars above, brings all its lessons, both of war and love."  
  
Apparently, she didn't care for it any more than he did, because it was barely legible underneath her dark Xs and scribbles.  
  
Her final effort was nearly indistinguishable from the original. Only one word had changed. She seemed to have given up.  
  
"Eternally shall all recall his fight  
  
Where omens dwell with stars of darkest light."  
  
She had written a list of "omens" in the margin, including floods, lightning, comets, meteorites, aurora borealis, the birth of an albino leopard, and earthquakes. Rather lazy of her not to have incorporated them into couplets of their own. It would have been most amusing to see her rhyme "albino" with anything. Perhaps 'Where dark stars dwell with great cats painted white?" Still, he had to admit, she'd done a remarkable job in the time she'd had.  
  
As he mulled over a few mildly amusing rhymes for "lightning strike," he had a curious sensation, quite like the natural phenomenon he was attempting to make light of.  
  
By changing "stars of darkest night" to "stars of darkest light," she had changed the record of the tale from the field of astronomy to that of botany, in obvious reference to the pain potion's active ingredient. But could the place 'where omens dwell' be somewhere not in the firmament, but a more terrestrial location?  
  
He sat upright in his chair. Illapa. A temple of Illapa. It made perfect sense. Not only were lightning and thunder considered omens of fortune, but the god himself figured centrally in the myth as the destroyer of Acoya- Napa.  
  
Vidalia's jovial invitation to call upon her expert knowledge of Incan architecture rang in his ears. Severus didn't know what he expected to find, but he instinctively felt it was important.  
  
He quickly gathered up his belongings and pulled a map from the display of tourist attractions. Good. He wasn't far from the Artist's district where Vidalia lived.  
  
As he left the Consulate, he chided himself for getting excited over what would likely turn into a dead end. But as he scowled fiercely at a group of small children who ran by him as he hailed a cab, he had to admit that this current investigation was much more interesting than staring at the Consulate walls for the next two hours.  
  
*************************  
  
Home of Vidalia Rose, Artist's District, Cusco  
  
28 June, 1:30 pm  
  
"Professor! What a pleasant surprise! Come in, come in! You're just in time for tea!"  
  
Severus allowed himself to be ushered into Vidalia's garishly decorated sitting room, which was even more colourful than he remembered on account of the bright sunlight. Severus sat in a squashy armchair while Vidalia bustled around the kitchen. She entered with a pot of interesting-smelling tea and a large plate of cucumber sandwiches and tea biscuits.  
  
Severus eyed the profusion of refreshments with dismay. He didn't want to stay any longer than necessary.  
  
"My dear Mrs. Rose, I regret to say that I have already eaten and that I cannot stay long." His stomach chose this moment to rumble loudly. He continued over it. "But I wished to take advantage of your expertise of Incan architecture," he sighed, "as well as your excellent company."  
  
Vidalia smiled at him in a motherly way as she handed him a cup of tea. "Very well, Professor. Feel free to have a wee nosh while I get my book.  
  
There were only three sandwiches remaining by the time she returned, to Severus' mild embarrassment. They were excellent, as were the chocolate biscuits and the small buttery ones with marzipan decorations. This time, the tea contained no coca, to Severus' relief.  
  
"Now," said Vidalia, refilling his teacup, "what sort of architecture were you interested in?"  
  
"In my studies, I came across a reference to omen worship. I recall that you mentioned a number of area churches were built upon the temples of the Inca. I had hoped that you could tell me which temples still exist. Of course," he went on in a bored voice, "I have no interest in visiting them on this trip, but I must confess, my curiosity is quite piqued. I shall likely require quite a bit of time in the Hogwarts library before I am able to make much sense of it, I'm afraid."  
  
Vidalia looked at him thoughtfully.  
  
"What sorts of omens?"  
  
"Perhaps earthquakes. Fires. Lightning. Anything the Inca might have worshipped."  
  
"Well, let me see. I can't think of any temples to earthquakes or fire, but I'm certain one of the churches was once a temple for Lightning. Oh drat, which was one it? Santo Domingo, perhaps?"  
  
He hoped that it wasn't, as that was also the home of the Magical British Consulate. She consulted her book of book and newspaper clippings. Severus was mildly surprised to note the distinctive typeface of Index Infusia on several entries as she flipped past. He continued decimating Vidalia's supply of tea biscuits.  
  
"Ah, here it is! 'Modern Cusco has largely retained its original layout design. The city, named 'The Navel' of the Inca empire was built in the shape of a leopard, which is closely associated with the Lightning and Thunder God, Illapa.' Oh this is a bit of good news, Professor!"  
  
"Why so, Vidalia?"  
  
"Because what was once Illapa's temple is now the church of San Blas. It's quite an easy distance from here, and its pulpit is so lovely, I should so love to see it again. Oh, this is so exciting! I can take you there in a matter of minutes!"  
  
Concealing his conflicting emotions behind a sip of tea, Severus held up a hand. "There is no need to concern yourself, Vidalia. I must return to the Consulate as soon as possible. However, I shall be sure to keep you informed of my studies on your local church, should they ultimately prove to be of interest."  
  
"Oh yes, of course. I'm sorry for going all a-flutter. Would you like some more tea?"  
  
Severus glanced at his still-full cup. "No thank you, Vidalia. I must be going. You have been a most gracious hostess."  
  
"You're welcome, Professor. Have a safe trip. Are you sure you won't see San Blas before you go? Even if not for research, the pulpit is one of the most impressive pieces of folk art in the world."  
  
"No thank you, Vidalia. A pleasant day to you."  
  
"And to you too, Professor. I hope you'll come stay with me again on your next visit!"  
  
As soon as he was out of sight, he ducked into an alley to consult his map. He could hardly believe his luck. San Blas was the next plaza over! Not wishing to take any chance of offending Vidalia - she was an acquaintance of Filius's, after all- he quickly transfigured his clothes into a Muggle disguise. He modelled the false moustache on the CHUMP who had stolen his trousers. He pulled the large straw hat down over his eyes and began the uphill walk to the church.  
  
From the outside, San Blas looked no different than the rest of the churches in Cusco; mud brick walls partially reinforced by brick around the entrance. A large stone bell tower stood beside it, obviously added on much later. The inside was dominated by the pulpit Vidalia had mentioned. The thing was elaborately carved of cedar and was surrounded by truly mediocre paintings of religious scenes and personages.  
  
A number of tourists were blithely snapping holiday shots, completely oblivious to the dirty looks given them by the worshippers. Still, there were far too many Muggles present for him to do a very thorough search. Concealing himself behind a statue of some saint or another at whose feet a skull had been placed, Severus shot a stream of smoke from his wand.  
  
At the sight of the smoke, the church staff quickly ushered everyone out of the building. Severus knew he had very little time before the fire brigade arrived, and cast a general revealing charm on the space. Nothing happened.  
  
Cursing himself for the worst kind of fool, he realized that the spells to reveal any secrets hidden in the church were likely Incan in origin. This is what happens, he thought furiously, when one gets into the habit of following around excitable Gryffindors. But wait, the girl had opened the concealed stair into the treetop pathways with a tap of her wand. Feeling exceptionally foolish, he began tapping his wand on sections of the floor and wall, mentally commanding them to open.  
  
The minutes crept past, and Severus was beginning to despair of finding anything, when he saw it. On a flagstone against the eastern wall, a tiny five-pointed star had been carved. With a quick glance over his shoulder, Severus tapped his wand on the carving and held his breath. The flagstone slid silently into the wall to reveal steep steps, barely high and wide enough for him to squeeze through. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, he lit his wand with a whisper and descended into the darkness.  
  
As soon as he had cleared the aperture, he tapped the flagstone again. It slid obligingly back into place, sealing the way behind him and enveloping him in darkness. When he lit his wand, he could see that the stairs were pitted granite, and very steep. He could not see the bottom in the dim wand light. Picking his way down the stairs, he noticed that the air was not only cooler below, but it was also moist. It also smelled far better than he expected of a space that very well could have been forgotten for 400 years.  
  
At the bottom of the stairs was a rectangular chamber with lightning-bolt reliefs carved into the walls, as well as a large statue, presumably of Illapa, against one wall. Two corridors branched off in opposite directions. The corridor leading off to the right had collapsed, leaving open a space a few centimetres wide. From the strong smell of rats and long decay that emanated from the hole, Severus was quite sure that there was nothing of interest to him there. The Inca had practiced ritual human sacrifice, after all, so it was only natural that there would be evidence of it in a temple.  
  
He brightened his wand light, and examined the corridor on the left. When he drew close, he gasped in delight. The wand light revealed an elaborate stone frieze in which had been captured the first part of what could only be the story of Acoya-Napa and Chuqui-llantu.  
  
Heart beating faster, he made his way down the corridor, following the friezes. There was Chuqui-llantu's father; the Sun, gazing disapprovingly at Acoya-Napa tending his llamas. Next was Acoya-Napa and the dragon, locked in a struggle from which only one would escape alive. Here was the artist's representation of the Moon Goddess presenting the orchid to Chuqui- llantu, and the maiden herself creating the potion to save her lover. And, of course, a large panel of Illapa throwing down lightning bolts to thwart Acoya-Napa's ill-conceived coup.  
  
Severus tore himself away from the friezes long enough to note that the air was definitely moister here, and he could distinctly make out the sound of rushing water. Very strange.  
  
At the end of the corridor was a large wooden door, upon which was carved a reminder to whomever entered to extinguish his or her light. In spite of his rush of excitement, he had to snort with amusement at the note that whomever disregarded the notice would be tied to a tree and left for the dragons. He considered carving a similar pictoral warning on the door to his private storeroom to discourage any unauthorized potions brewers. The sound of water was much stronger.  
  
He almost turned back, afraid of what he would probably not find, and terrified of what he might. Ultimately, he was unable to find any scrap of caution to offset his wild curiosity. Pulling himself together, he extinguished his light, took a deep breath and tapped his wand on the door, which swung open.  
  
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End Note: Mean, Cliffhanging Mundungus! Review!  
  
Next Chapter: That'd be telling, wouldn't it? 


	12. Chapter 12

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
  
Author: Mundungus42  
  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: PG-13 and proud of it!  
  
Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance  
  
Disclaimer: I got one hand in my pocket, and the other one is warding off subpoenas.  
  
Note: Thanks to all who have reviewed! If you have questions or concerns about the story, feel free to email me.  
  
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The room he found was smaller than he had expected, perhaps five metres by ten metres and was lit with a sort of dim ambient light. The air was cold and wet. He was quick to note that the source of water was just to his left. As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he was able to make out that a great deal of water was falling over an opening in the wall, as if the room had been build behind a great subterranean waterfall. There was also a constant breeze emanating from the opening.  
  
Looking more closely, he realized that a slanted slab of granite at the base of the hole protruded into the torrent just enough to bring a spray of mist into the room, and the moving air sent it swirling around the room.  
  
He turned to examine the rest of the room and gasped.  
  
The walls, ceiling, and columns were covered with Black Star orchids. There were thousands of blossoms infusing the room with their faint purple glow. The only place they didn't grow was on a small pathway of stones that circled the room. Making his way quickly down the path, he plucked a stem with three blossoms from a column, wrapped it in his handkerchief, and placed it carefully in his bag.  
  
The Inca had successfully cultivated Black Stars. Unbelievable! This many plants could have made enough pain potion to dose every person in Cusco. This cache of plants was the seat of the Inca's military power, and had somehow it had been lost over the years.  
  
Severus felt a sudden chill. Who could he trust with knowledge of this place? He didn't trust the current Peruvian government to protect the plants from exploitation, especially if they ever figured out the reason the Inca had cultivated them in the first place.  
  
He nearly jumped in surprise when a beam of light shot from behind him. He spun to face the interloper, and found himself with a face full of light from a Muggle-style torch. Dazzled by the light, he pulled out his wand and shot a stunning spell toward the source. The light-bearer grunted and fell to the ground.  
  
Severus let out a sigh of relief. He ran toward the fallen torch, intending to extinguish it and hoping that not too many of the plants had been damaged. He was unprepared for the stunning spell that came from near the waterfall.  
  
He cursed himself as he dodged. There were two of them! Of course a Muggle couldn't have found the entrance! He leaped forward, intending to move out of the torch beam. Unfortunately, he slipped on the damp stone, and a second stunner caught him squarely in the chest.  
  
He collapsed to the floor, unconscious.  
  
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He woke with his face pressed against cold stone. His arms and legs were tightly bound, and experimental wriggling proved fruitless. He could just make out the forms of his captors, who had not noticed him wake. They were arguing quietly by the waterfall, though Severus couldn't make out their words over the pounding water.  
  
A man and a woman. Their argument was growing louder.  
  
"-couldn't have gotten in here without me! I was the one who got him to eat the charmed marzipan biscuit!" Her voice was furious, but unmistakably English. Vidalia?!  
  
"You never track if I no tell you what he look for!" retorted the man, equally furious. "You don't know what to do with them all. I do! Seventy percent is mine!"  
  
Puquio?!  
  
Severus' head swam. Vidalia and Puquio?!  
  
"You owed me at least that much information for getting you away from the rangers," she retorted, voice icy. "We split 50-50."  
  
They continued to fight, and Severus weighed his options. He was bound head to foot with what felt like fishing line. Puquio's work, certainly. He was lying on the path in the centre of the room. The white stone was the brightest thing in the room, so they would immediately see if he tried to wriggle away. They were also between him and the only ways out- the waterfall opening and the door.  
  
He shifted slightly, taking inventory of what was in his possession. His wand, satchel, luggage, and disguise had all been taken. All that remained was the shirt on his back and his transfigured trousers. If he knew Puquio like he thought he did, the poacher would be heavily armed, and Vidalia had a wand, and most likely his as well. If there was a way to force his way out, he certainly couldn't see it. His best option was to listen to see if there was a way he could talk his way out. Their current argument was certainly a factor in his favour. He had best do something about it before they resolved their differences.  
  
He groaned loudly. "What is the meaning of this? Who are you? How did you get here?"  
  
Vidalia chuckled. "We got here the same way you did. Who we are is none of your concern."  
  
She was making an attempt to disguise her voice. 'Attempt' was the operative word. How quaint.  
  
He added an artificial quaver of fear to his voice. "What do you want?"  
  
"I think that's obvious."  
  
"What are you going to do to me?"  
  
"That depends entirely on you. What can you tell me about these orchids?"  
  
Severus swallowed loudly. "Well, they're extremely rare."  
  
"You'll have to do better than that," she said, taking a step toward him. "What made you come all the way from England for them?"  
  
"Untie me, and I'll tell you."  
  
Puquio chose this moment to make his presence known. He loaded what sounded like a large pistol. "Tell, or we kill you."  
  
Time to divide and conquer. "Puquio? Is that you?"  
  
"Silencio! A blaze of light flew from her wand and struck Puquio in the throat. "I warned you to be quiet," Vidalia growled. To Severus she replied, "Yes, it's him. What's it to you?"  
  
"So that's how he escaped," Severus accused in scandalized tones. "He had help from a witch."  
  
"Puquio is a necessary evil," she said irritatedly. "And you are stalling."  
  
Severus began to laugh.  
  
"Do you want me to silence you, too?" She sounded angry. Best to give her something to think about.  
  
"You really have no idea what you have here, do you?" Severus asked. "If you did, you'd have no need for a Muggle smuggler as an accomplice."  
  
Puquio was making desperate gestures, visible even in the dark. Vidalia clucked her tongue and released his.  
  
"He lies! We kill him now and take the plants. I get you hundreds of thousands for each one!"  
  
Vidalia was silent for a moment. "I'm listening."  
  
Puquio aimed pistol at him and drew back the hammer with a click. She disarmed him with a flick of her wand and stunned him. She did not fetch the gun. Instead, she turned to Severus.  
  
"This is only temporary," she assured him. "If what you say sufficiently sways me, I'll obliviate and get rid of him. If I am not impressed, I will revive him and he will kill you."  
  
This was proceeding better than he could have hoped.  
  
"I really would be more comfortable if you released me. This string is cutting off my circulation."  
  
A severing charm released his legs. He sat up slowly with a sigh. "Thank you."  
  
"Make one move toward me, and you'll wish you'd never even heard of Peru."  
  
He hid a smirk. "I understand."  
  
"Now, talk."  
  
The gun was about five feet away from him. He needed to talk her into complacency, then make a grab it. Most Magical folk had no conception of Muggle firearms, and Vidalia appeared to be no exception. Most assumed they were like wands, and difficult for anyone but the owner to use.  
  
"The Black Star orchid is the active ingredient for a number of extremely useful, albeit arcane potions. Their obscurity puts into a unique position those with access to the plants and knowledge of their uses."  
  
"And I suppose you have such knowledge."  
  
"I am a Potions Master."  
  
"What sorts of useful potions?"  
  
By the end of this, she'd be either dead or obliviated. No harm in sweetening the deal. "One renders the drinker immune to all forms of pain."  
  
He heard a quick intake of breath. She was still staring at him, so he remained perfectly still.  
  
"You lie. No such potion exists."  
  
Her words were harsh, but her voice trembled with greed. He dove in for the kill, doing his best to sound panicked.  
  
"It's true, I swear! I re-created it only yesterday from an ancient Incan poem about Illapa! The same poem led me to this place! Don't you see, it's a goldmine! With my help, you could be the richest witch in the world!"  
  
She stared at him, but before she could respond, Puquio groaned. When Vidalia turned to deal with him, Severus leaped for the gun. The fishing line that bound his arms to his sides bit, but he was able to point the gun approximately at Vidalia and fire.  
  
She cried out as the bullet nicked her, but she did not drop her wand. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly into the ground. He fired again, but this shot sailed wide, blasting bits of stone from the entrance arch, but hitting neither of his assailants.  
  
Puquio rushed at Severus and kicked him in the ribs and threw himself on top of him. Severus gasped, and lost control of the gun. Scrabbling in the darkness, Puquio managed to find the pistol and jumped away from Severus.  
  
Vidalia approached him, wand aimed at him. "You made a big mistake, Potions Master."  
  
This was the end. "Vidalia," Severus began, ribs afire.  
  
She didn't even respond to his use of her name. "I'm sorry Professor. I'm just going to take my chances with the Muggle market."  
  
She raised her wand.  
  
"Lumos solara!"  
  
Before the new voice had a chance to register in Severus's mind, piercing, blinding sunlight filled the room. There was a collective cry from Severus, Puqio, and Vidalia. Severus's was partly because he could hear a soft crackling sound from the room around him: the sound of thousands of plants dying.  
  
His rescuer, bushy head still surrounded by a shimmering corona of sunlight, shot thin cords from her wand, neatly trussing Puquio and Vidalia like turkeys. She stunned them, seemingly as an afterthought.  
  
"You don't want to use stupefy on Puquio," Severus commented, wincing as his ribs protested. "He's had it used on him so much that he's practically immune."  
  
"Good idea," she said, muttering something in a language Severus didn't understand. Puquio's body twitched, then lay silent.  
  
They both surveyed the room around them. Severus could now make out the even joins between the stones and the beautiful carvings on the columns and area surrounding the waterfall. Every last plant in the room had withered, blossoms, stems and leaves grey and brittle, as if a breath of air would reduce them to dust. None of the orchids had survived, not even in the far corners of the room or the shadows behind the columns. So many rare and beautiful plants, all destroyed.  
  
Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder. He suspected that she felt their loss even more keenly than he did. "I had to do it, Severus. If anyone found them, it would be a disaster."  
  
He nodded.  
  
There was a moment of silence. She made an exasperated sound. "Aren't you going to ask how I found you?"  
  
He felt the beginnings of a smile curl his lips. "No, but I suppose you're going to tell me anyway."  
  
"The pair of jeans you borrowed from Tino was one of the items we put tracking charms on," she explained eagerly. "When I got back from market, I checked to see if you had left the country yet. When I saw you in an unknown area beneath San Blas, my curiosity was piqued."  
  
"So you blundered in, blinded the smugglers, and destroyed a few thousand endangered orchids in the process."  
  
"And saved you by the seat of your trousers," she added, sounding more amused than defensive.  
  
"Yes, you did," he admitted, annoyed. "And I suppose you're going to lord it over me for the rest of your life, just like Potter."  
  
"Only when you're really cranky. Really, Professor. What use do I have for a life debt?"  
  
Severus could think of more than a few things she could force him to do, but he wasn't about to mention them to her. Hermione was perfectly capable of thinking of wicked ideas on her own. He shrugged.  
  
Hermione walked over to the unconscious duo on the floor. "The last time I had an unconscious smuggler on my hands, I made a bit of a mess of things. It's your turn to decide what to do with them."  
  
He glanced over Vidalia's plump, prone form and smiled, revealing both rows of teeth.  
  
"I have just the thing."  
  
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End Note: Is it the end for our felonious Mrs. Rose? Tune in tomorrow- same time, same place!  
  
Next Chapter: The End (or is it?) 


	13. Chapter 13

Title: Trail of the Black Star  
  
Author: Mundungus42  
  
Email: mundungus42@yahoo.com  
  
Rating: A relatively tame PG-13  
  
Category: Adventure, Humour, Romance  
  
Disclaimer: All the battlements are empty, and the Mun is laying low. Plotline bunnies in the graveyard, got no time to make 'em grow. Now I bid the Star farewell, I won't claim that it belongs to me. It's only lines that I'm quoting. It's only JK I am referencing. It's only you I'm amusing. Guess I'm doin' fine.  
  
Disclaimer for Disclaimer: I don't own Beck. Yet.  
  
Author's Note: Ok, enough melancholy from me. I've been working on this story for nearly 10 months, and I'm a little sad but mostly excited to post the last of it. Huge thanks to my Beta and Gamma readers, Jeff, and Christine, as well as to all the wonderful people who reviewed!  
  
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Home of Vidalia Rose, Artist's District, Cusco  
  
28 June, 3:30 pm  
  
"I cannot thank you enough, señor, señorita," said the CHUMP who had been sent to take Vidalia and Puquio away. He was not one of the four who had visited the research camp that morning, but he appeared to be cut from the same cloth, having already pocketed several of Vidalia's particularly fine stone miniatures. "This Mrs. Rose was in possession of only a small amount of coca, but she will tell us her supplier. And we will return this Muggle to the rangers once we have finished with him."  
  
Severus, finding it difficult to keep a straight face, nodded. Hermione smiled earnestly at the man. "I am glad to help in any way I can, as your agency has been kind enough to let me study here."  
  
This seemed to please the CHUMP, and he gave the signal for the rest of his squad to disapparate. Vidalia's living room was certainly less decorated than it had been earlier in the day.  
  
When they had gone, Hermione turned to him with a serious look on her face. "You don't need my help getting back to the Consulate, do you?"  
  
"I am more than capable of accomplishing the task. There is no need to mollycoddle."  
  
"Good. I hate to cut this short, but I need to get back to the camp right away."  
  
"Dinner in the oven?"  
  
She grinned. "Tracking charm on Vidalia's tea tin. With a bit of luck, Tino'll have his guitar back by daybreak!"  
  
Rather than ask this time, she ducked in and kissed him- short, gleeful, and sweet. This time, he couldn't bring himself to frown when she drew back.  
  
"I'll be seeing you, Professor."  
  
"Miss Granger."  
  
She disapparated with a pop.  
  
  
  
Severus Snape's Potions Lab, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland  
  
23 October, 9:45 pm  
  
Severus Snape sat by the fire, sipping tea. The journal on the desk in front of him lay forgotten. He had finished grading for the evening, and fifteen minutes still remained before student curfew. The cool autumn evenings bred introspection. In previous years, the changing of the seasons stirred the ghosts of his past, mistakes, misjudgements, and regrets that refused to die. He did his best to fill these days and nights with frenetic activity to distract him, but the ghosts always waited in the dark moments, usually in the moments before sleep. This year, however, he was content to sit and let the pleasures of the past few months chase away the unhappy memories like llama-eared patronuses.  
  
His most recent- and final- foray into the romance genre, "The Devil's Snare," had been a hodgepodge of his experiences in Peru, thoroughly mixed. It was the most painful thing he'd ever written. The first stumbling block he encountered was that it impossible to turn his experiences with Hermione into a romance novel. She just wasn't cut out for the part. When he replaced Hermione with Brittany, the book began to go more smoothly. The secret orchid cache he changed into a hidden temple filled with gold, and the CHUMPs became corrupt government officials. The plot was drastically simplified, but he knew that romance novels were not purchased for their plot content. The love scenes felt more superficial than usual, and very unpleasant to write. By the time he finished, he knew it was time to pass the Johnson Palmer torch to someone else.  
  
Meg adored the new book. She didn't even want to change the title. She had been rather taken aback by his sudden desire to quit writing, but was easily persuaded that she was more than capable of filling his shoes. They had shaken on it in the Aero Club, and when she sent him the legal paperwork surrendering his pen name to her, he signed them without a second thought. She had managed to wrangle a very impressive cheque for the last book- enough for Severus to announce his plans to retire at the end of the school year.  
  
And then what? For the first time in his life, he would be beholden to no- one. It was a slightly scary prospect, but he'd waited nearly fifty years to live his life on his own terms, and now was his chance to do it. Albus had been delighted for him, and generously offered to use his Department of Mysteries research grant to fund Severus's own private research once Hogwarts's facilities were no longer available to him. He had declined, citing a need to see more of the world and some time away from potions.  
  
Albus twinkled most insinuatingly, and managed to dodge the cup of tea Severus launched in his direction. Even at a hundred and sixty-five and with two death certificates bearing his name, the man still moved like a cat.  
  
There was, of course, Granger, whose no-nonsense voice had harangued him from a dusty corner of his conscience every time he tried to write a love scene. He hadn't heard from her directly since leaving Peru, though he received a package containing several pairs of his trousers and an article from a Muggle science journal written by professor of molecular biology at the Universidad Mayor de San Marcos. The article detailed his lab's work on analysing compounds of native species and their structural similarity to human endorphines. One of the plants listed was a recently discovered orchid, christened Masdevallia grangerii. The package contained no note.  
  
Severus blew on his tea, still not to proper drinking temperature, and returned from his daydream. There would be plenty of time to think about Granger in the future. He had a year of service at Hogwarts to finish.  
  
It was curfew- his favourite time of day. He started toward the secret passage that exited near the Gryffindor common room, when the door he was about to pull open exploded from its hinges and threw him to the ground. He leaped to his feet and pulled out his wand. When the dust cleared, he found himself face to face with a furious Hermione Granger.  
  
"Miss Granger," he began, "to what do I owe the pleasure-"  
  
"How dare you!" Her wand was clutched in a white-knuckled fist.  
  
"I beg your pardon?"  
  
"How dare you!" she repeated, throwing a small, paperback book on the floor in front of him.  
  
It was a copy of "The Devil's Snare." Oh dear.  
  
Hermione was still struggling for words. "You - you wrote me into this piece of trash. You- you are the worst kind of- you- you- PAPERBACK NOVELIST!"  
  
Her shriek echoed through the corridor and Severus winced.  
  
"Miss Granger, calm yourself. If you would just come in and have a cup of tea-"  
  
"I WILL NOT CALM MYSELF OR HAVE A CUP OF TEA!"  
  
He was starting to get angry. "If you are quite finished making a spectacle of yourself!" he hissed.  
  
"I'd say you did a far better job of making a spectacle of me than I ever could," she retorted. "I have never in my life been so utterly, utterly humiliated! My research, my work turned into the plot of a third-rate piece of pulp! And me! Am I really so hideous that you had to replace me with that airhead Angelino and her bouncing bosoms? Do you think she's ever going to let me live this down? And you! Who the hell is the charming Thayne Meadows supposed to be? Severus Snape- the man who couldn't put together a compliment if a year's supply of ashwinder eggs depended on it? How could you DO something so- so-"  
  
"Superficial?"  
  
"PATHETIC! YOU HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH REAL WOMEN SO YOU DO THIS! IT'S PATHETIC!"  
  
A ringing silence followed this, filled only with the sound of Granger's heavy breathing. Severus hadn't the least idea what to say. She narrowed her eyes.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Well what, Miss Granger. What do you want me to say? Go down on my knees and beg for forgiveness? Defend myself?"  
  
"You could argue with me. Protest that you wrote it. Say it's all a horrible mistake."  
  
"You know it's not, Hermione."  
  
He wanted to turn away, but the open, tearful look made his heart swell.  
  
"Then why? Why did you do this?"  
  
He sighed heavily and gestured for her to enter his chambers. This time she did.  
  
He took the chair by the fire opposite to the one she had taken.  
  
"Miss Granger, given your less-than-sterling opinion of me and my romantic experience, I doubt very much that you will believe a word of this, but I will try anyway. I am not proud of the stories I've written, but you should know that every one, with the exception of the most recent, has been the minimally adorned truth. Difficult as it may be for you to believe, my life has been filled with these women. The past twenty years have been a great desert, devoid of any meaningful romantic relations. Can you blame me for my cynicism? For losing hope?"  
  
Her eyebrows appeared to be in danger of merging with her hairline. "You've written more than one novel?"  
  
He laughed humourlessly. "You missed out on such works as The Thieving Magpie and Scarlet Brigands? Didn't you know that you are addressing an author who has appeared on the New York Times paperback bestseller list three times in the number ten slot? The selfsame author who made the latest edition of Bartlett's with the inimitable quote 'He hoped that her company would help alleviate the ennui that had overtaken him like Communism through Eastern Europe?'"  
  
She stared at him in unflattering disbelief. "You're having me on."  
  
"When last I checked, Johnson Palmer novels outsold even Peignoir Sapphire books three to one. And think about it, Hermione. Do you think I can afford to take even the occasional trip abroad, much less an early retirement on a professor's salary?"  
  
She shook her head, but did not look convinced in the least.  
  
"Really, Miss Granger, do you need me to recite the 'May I convey how ardently I admire and love you' scene from The Devil's Snare before you are convinced?"  
  
The mention of the book brought back her glare. "That will hardly be necessary."  
  
There was only one option left. He steeled himself. "As much as it pains me, would more concrete evidence convince you?"  
  
She nodded slowly.  
  
He led her into the back of his storeroom, where there was a narrow door. He released a number of powerful locking spells with a few deft waves of his wand and inserted a heavily charmed iron key into the lock. When the first lock released with a magically an amplified click, he pressed his thumb into a second lock, which had been keyed to his essence. When the second lock released, the door swung silently open.  
  
Behind the door was a cupboard barely large enough to fit an ironing board. Inside was a tall but extremely narrow bookshelf containing the complete works of Johnson Palmer: manuscripts, uncorrected galley proofs, first editions from Meg, and his various 'literary' award statuettes - accepted in absentia, naturally. Hermione looked them over, brushing her fingers tentatively over the spines of the books with an unreadable look on her face.  
  
"You wrote all of these."  
  
"I already told you I did, didn't I?"  
  
"And they're all true except for the one that Brittany gave me, the one with us in it."  
  
"As close to the truth as I could get without risking libel," he replied with grim humour. "Each one came from one of my short trips, either for reconnaissance during wartime or for rare potions materials. I figured none of the witches I met would ever read a Muggle romance novel. But now that Brittany has recognized you and herself, I can hardly continue, can I?"  
  
She met his eyes. "What was so different about this book?"  
  
Was the girl being deliberately obtuse? "I think you already know that, Hermione."  
  
She turned away to survey the bookshelf again, when her thoughtful look quickly gave way to astonishment. She'd spotted it. On the highest shelf, encased in a climate-controlled, one-way glass dome was the single stem of black star orchids that he had stashed in his satchel before Vidalia and Tino had arrived. It shone softly in the darkness behind the glass.  
  
"Oh, Professor," she breathed, "you may yet escape with all your limbs intact."  
  
"If you think you're going to take my only specimen of the Masdevalli genus, you've got another think coming!"  
  
"Really, Severus. In case you'd forgotten, Black Stars are native to Peru. What I mean is that if you've missed the poetic, and if I may say so, romantic, implications of this little cupboard's contents, you're unfit to hold the title Romance Novelist."  
  
His knees were shaking for no good reason, but he still felt the need to snap. "Where else would I put a plant that reacts adversely to light?"  
  
She took a step towards him, twirling her wand in her fingers. "With such good one-way charms on the glass, you could keep it in a window for a summer and it would still be fine."  
  
"And what exactly is this supposed to prove?"  
  
"What I've suspected all along." She gestured at the cupboard with a grin. "You are a closet romantic."  
  
He took a half-step toward her, all that the tiny space allowed, and glared down at her. "And you are an impossibly tactless, aggravating, overly- imaginative brat."  
  
Her chin lifted defiantly, but before she could respond, Severus took matters into his own hands and thoroughly stopped her mouth.  
  
When he pulled his mouth from hers after what seemed like hours, they were both flushed and gasping for breath. In the course of things, they had managed to knock most of the books to the floor. Even the orchid was perched precariously on the edge of the shelf.  
  
"Wow," Hermione commented, trying unsuccessfully to smooth her hair. "Does this mean the hero has given up his adventuring days for the tedium of, dare I say, dating?"  
  
Severus idly fingered the bruised spot on his neck where her sharp little teeth had nibbled him to the very edge of his control. "I would wager that his adventuring days are just beginning."  
  
THE END  
  
for now... __________________________________________________________________  
  
End Notes:  
  
Thank you to my beauteous beta reader, Jeff and my grand gamma reader Christine, who both kept me from making too much of an ass of myself.  
  
This story has been strongly influenced by Midnight Blue, Pigwidgeon37, and Anna, whose various Snapes are brilliant, passionate, and above all, not "romantic" in the least.  
  
(Semi)Direct quotes:  
  
"Honestly, I don't know why I bother sometimes." "I don't know why you bother, ever." The Young Ones, episode "Bambi."  
  
"A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy." "[in]vulnerable to the heartbreak and thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to."  
-Hamlet (but y'all knew that already)  
  
"Is he your, um-? Ex-um." Tony Kushner, Angels in America Part 1: The Millennium Approaches  
  
""I was not unaware of its potential lack of insignificance" Stephen Fry, The Liar  
  
Guppies at feeding time... Blackadder Goes Fourth, episode "Corporal Punishment."  
  
The Thieving Magpie is an opera by Rossini  
  
"stopped her mouth" Bastardized "Much Ado About Nothing." My excuse is that Shakespeare bastardized it from the Italians first.  
  
Quechua Words  
  
P'ajpaku- Quechua for wizard with a connotation of satanic magic  
  
Q'ararenqa- Peruvian augury- a black bird with a white tail whose song is considered unlucky.  
  
Quipu- In spite of never having developed written language, the Incans recorded their entire history on knotted strings. The colour, sequence, number and type of knot indicate the type of record each string was. As you can imagine, there were many different systems, which renders the surviving quipu largely untranslatable. For more information see  
  
Willaq Uma- High priest  
  
Uchu- Peruvian chilli pepper, very hot  
  
Soqos - a cane, like bamboo  
  
Before anyone asks, I am bound to secrecy on both the Secret Fudge and CHUMP recipes.  
  
Information on Peru and the Inca:  
  
Huge thanks to anyone who made it to the end! 


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